Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.
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I’ve been thinking about asses a bit lately (on many levels). Grazing the internet, I happened across this photo of Twitter wonder Chris Nogiec via homotrophy, and my thoughts turned entirely and literally on asses. The sight of his astonishing ass shelf bulging out the top of Chris’ white briefs is truly beautiful, and it brought to mind a fleeting image in Gino Gotti’s match that I posted about yesterday. Early in Gino’s gazebo tussle with Kieran Dunne, Kieran is on the defensive, getting lifted and dropped to the mat behind Gino’s back. Kieran’s massive pecs inadvertently get caught on Gino’s blue trunks, and as Kieran slides down Gino’s backside, so do Gino’s trunks. For a fleeting moment, we see Gino’s sweet ass exposed as he straddles Kieran, now flat on his back underneath the hairy Italian. I feel just a little bitter toward Gino for instantly grabbing his trunks and yanking them back up before diving on top of his opponent. I forgive him though, because Gino is clearly a rookie learning the ropes. I would hope with some more experience, he’d realize that there’s much more to be sold in letting his cheeks remain free as he single-mindedly focuses on pressing his advantage on his opponent.

In any case, that’s all it took to get me obsessing about asses (in a literal sense) once again. It doesn’t take much. I think a fit, toned ass is one of the most beautiful creations on earth. When a beautiful ass has a particular formula of genetics and hard work, the shape and strength there is simply gorgeous. I could just sit and stare at the aesthetic cheeks of fitness model Jerry East for hours. In fact this image so captured my imagination that Jerry became the physical template upon which I’ve built an entire wrestling superhero character in my superhero series of homoerotic wrestling fiction.

Don’t get me wrong, there are all sorts of delightful things I’d like to do with an ass like that other than sit and stare. The tactile delights of thick, round cheeks are entirely attractive to me. I’m fully in favor of exploring a sweet set of glutes aggressively, using various parts of my own body to leave no mystery uncovered. But honestly, there’s an aesthetic to a beautiful ass that makes me want to soak it in visually, lingeringly and longingly enjoying the simple fact that something so fine and beautiful exists in this world full of so much ugliness.

Which, I suppose, brings me back to the metaphorical sense of asses. I must say I’ve been dealing with more than my fair share of horses asses lately. I tend to prioritize and value politeness and good form, frankly. I find little to excuse blatant rudeness. People who elbow their way across my path are a major irritation in my otherwise well-ordered life. I suppose I’m a little like Hannibal Lector that way (not the cannibalism part, but the abhorrence of rudeness part). I tend to go with the flow up until the point that someone is persistently rude, at which point I’m more than ready to open up a can of whoop-ass and re-establish the natural order of things that I take comfort in. In fact, I think failing to call out rudeness and crack some skulls in response to it is, in its own way, a contributing factor to just more creeping rudeness. So I have a pattern of having two speeds: 1) civil, friendly, polite, accommodating and cordial and 2) nostrils-flaring, knee to your throat, hard to decide whether I’ll be more satisfied if you submit fast or make me kick your ass long and hard before finally acknowledging that you deserved the harsh discipline I just delivered to you.
Which, in its own way, leads back to the beauty of a naked, gorgeous, vulnerable ass again, really. A severe spanking, my ass planted on someone else’s as I threaten to snap their neck off in a camel clutch, my hand shoved just underneath two ripe melons as I reach through and give a commanding claw to his unsuspecting testicles… the ass-kicking of a beautifully assed ass can make the whole circle of life so delightfully satisfying.

Still, I could use with fewer asses (metaphorically) these days.

Potential

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I’ve been savoring the new release of Gazebo Grapplers 11 from BG East. There’s a lot to be said for GG11, most of which has already been said more skillfully than I could by Joe over at Ringside at Skull Island. Patrick Donovan’s match against Steven Thomas is both hot, sexy, and a sweet reminder of the last time we got a glimpse of cleft-chinned, BG East legend, Brad Rochelle (the story of the match picks up the day after the two of them were embarrassed by Brad and Jonny Firestorm in Contract 9). But for today, I’d like to linger just a little longer on a rookie I’d like to see more of, Gino Gotti.

Gino squares off in the gazebo against baby-faced narcissist and long-time BG East battler, Kieran Dunne. While I enjoy watching Kieran get spanked and humiliated like the little-boy with in britches-too-big that he is, Kieran steps up to the plate here and gives Gino the appropriate welcome that a rookie deserves. I’m a big advocate for the rookie beatdown. Didn’t there used to be a rule that rookies, particularly in their first match, had to be rode hard and put away wet? It seems like that doesn’t hold anymore, with a lot of new faces entering homoerotic wrestling stories as seasoned dominators. But in this case, Kieran gives Gino the classic rookie treatment, instructing him in the fine art of self-worship and then tying him up in humiliating knots.

Gino has a lot going for him in my estimation. He packs his trunks quite nicely both coming and going, and I’m particularly a fan of him going. Like a good, hot Italian stud should, Gino possesses a nice coat of body hair whose will has been tamed but not broken. He’s very fit without being overly muscled, and he’s in possession of nipples screaming out to be nibbled on. But make no mistake, Gino is clearly a rookie. He repeatedly dives in way, way too fast for pinfalls, as if an un-refereed gazebo scrap against the likes of sweat-soaked, mirror-gazing Kieran was ever going to be about a three count. He has a relatively nice self-possession on camera for a rookie, but he doesn’t quite sell his own suffering, particularly verbally. It’s entirely possible that his groans actually sound a little bored when he’s genuinely suffering, but that’s not going to sell an audience (at least it doesn’t me). But in the midst of me feeling a bit uncharitable about Gino’s salesmanship, something really fantastic suddenly occurred to me. Perhaps the sexiest thing about Gino is his deep, “fuck you” base voice. With a little more confidence, some swagger, and a willingness to let his ass hang out when his opponent “accidentally” pulls his trunks down in the match, I think a bare-chested introduction between Gino and YouTube phenom, SteelMuscleGod, could be the most homoerotically arousing non-expicit face-off in history.

It’s the pitch of Gino’s voice that brings SMG to mind for me. Both hot hunks possess a deep, bass snarl that sounds like it comes from a half-mile underground. Whereas rookie Gino seems not to be aware of the arousing sensual quality of his words, SMG has been cultivating the double-entendre laced, dripping-with-sex delivery of his deep growl for a couple of years.

I realize this match is highly unlikely to occur in the real world, so I’ll just have to imagine it. I’ll just have to imagine the aggressive pre-bout circling of one another like predators ready to pounce. I can picture in my mind a snarling pose down as they compare physiques, offering begrudging praise but each stud insisting that his body is clearly superior. The way I’d see it, there would be a ferocious opening scramble with tit-for-tat hip-tosses, head scissors, and grunting escapes, Gino would get his licks in, confidently staring down at SMG’s twisted body desperately trying to squirm free from the Italian’s breath-stealing body scissors. “Ooooo yah,” Gino’s hairy chest would rumble. “All that muscle, just helpless between my legs… it feels so goooood…” Gino would purr from the basement in his chest. Frankly, though, I’d have to imagine that SMG would have the power advantage to finally muscle his way free, stalk Gino like lunch on the African savannah, and eventually capture Gino in a skull crushing standing head scissors. “Mmmmmmm…” SMG would groan as if he’s about to climax. “You’ve never felt power like that before, have you? You can’t handle the muscle of a god, can you? Now tell me, who is your Steel Muscle God now?!”

I’m rooting for Gino to continue to develop that hot, gorgeous, arousing raw talent of his, one way or another.

Mumbai Hunk

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capped has reminded me that I still haven’t seen the Bollywood movie Dostana, despite my pledge to give it a go. I haven’t acquired the taste for Bollywood flicks yet, and I feel provincial and un-self-actualized for it. More to the point, I’m kicking myself for missing out on the hot, hot, hot skin shots of Bollywood babe, John Abraham.

I’ve started writing 6’1″ Abraham into more than one fictional celebrity wrestling match, but each time I’ve been sidetracked. The fates just haven’t lined up for him to be fully birthed into my wrestling kink imagined world of hot, sweaty, homoerotic celebrity wrestling fiction.

Reportedly, Abraham is a PETA-packing vegetarian who advocates for Habitat for Humanity on the side. That’s really all the detail (or rumor) I need to slide him securely into the spot of a chiseled-chinned hero who’s accustomed to brining men to their knees from the stunning combination of his beauty and fantastic physique. I see him as a classic white knight with cocky swagger and self-righteous inevitability about him, which you and I know is the perfect set up for some nasty, nasty (nasty) heel beat down.

And you and I also both know that those broad, massive pecs are like giant bulls eyes waiting for torture-turned-worship with a chaser of more brutal torture to wash it all down. All right… I need to get back to writing now….

I got ya

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Joe at Ringside at Skull Island offered an excellent and definitive review of Thunders Arena’s “Custom Video Series” debut featuring Ace Hanson squashing Angel to smithereens. As usual, Joe is on the money, and there isn’t much else really to say. But still, I feel compelled to repeat one of Joe’s perfect lines and emphasize just a couple additional points.

Joe writes, “Ace has got as much muscle in his buns of steel as poor Angel has in his whole well-built but compact body.” This line caught my attention, similarly to how Ace’s buns of steel grabbed me by the ears held me fixated on them. I think I get more of a kick out of more squash mashes than Joe, but even among tasty squashes, this is a pretty fascinating match to watch, not in small part due to Ace’s massive glutes. S0 much beef squeezed so tightly into spandex trunks boggles the mind.



It’s not as if I wouldn’t see Ace walking down the street and fail to notice that he’s one chiseled, massive, massive man. 6′ tall and 220 pounds is hard to miss from a distance. But up close, juxtaposed against 5’5″, 135 pound Angel, with his tree trunk thighs squeezing the tattooed tough guy until the little man is literally begging for him to stop… and this is just astonishing to watch. The opening test of strength captures the whole, remarkable novelty of this match. Angel is clearly destined to be struggling uphill against anything Ace has to throw at him.



If there’s one thing I have to quibble about in this match, it’s the “custom” scenario built around Ace’s need to beat up on Angel because Ace caught Angel staring at him at the gym. This seems just shy of a gay panic concept, and I’m repeatedly on the record as opposed to that tired, homophobic old saw getting mixed up in genuinely hot homoerotic (even the PG version) wrestling. Still, the big v small scenario has a long tradition with more than a passing overlap with wrestling kink tastes (including my own). What Ace and Angel bring is a fascinating angle. The match is taped really, really up close. So, for example, when you see Ace’s thighs wrapped around Angel’s torso, you just can’t miss the amazing fact that Angel’s waist is, at most, barely bigger around than just one of Ace’s upper legs. When Ace has Angel in one of several face-to-crotch figure-four headlocks, Ace just looks impossibly big. When, in the same position, Ace gives a couple completely, absolutely unnecessary and entirely gratuitous hair yanks, the domination and humiliation are profoundly arousing. It’s not as if Ace needs to drive home the point any further that Angel is 100% under his paralyzing control. Ace does it just for kicks, and he gives the camera some long, lingering grins to let you and me know that he does it for our kicks, too.



Finally, just a handful of points that Joe didn’t mention that I can’t leave unsaid. Squash though it is, Ace works up a very fine sheen of sweat, and that’s a major plus in my book. Ace has Angel out cold at least 3 times. And one last wrestling kink joy in this match for me is precisely at the moment that Ace has Angel in a cobra clutch. Ace whispers, almost lovingly, as if reassuringly, as Angel is losing touch with the conscious world: “That’s right, I got ya…. Oh, goin’ down…. Don’t fight it. I got ya.”

Yes, Ace, indeed… you got me. (That last pic is from an earlier Ace match where he’s shaved… I can’t decide which I like better).

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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September has brought a bumper crop of homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month contenders. Can-Am has a September release date for their Hollywood Fight Club 3, featuring ever-ready wrestler-of-the-month quality from Chris Bruce, Donnie Drake, Rio Garza, and “Can-Am Exclusives” Drake Davenport and Michael Vineland. BG East released 6 new tapes this month, and top contenders for the -of-the-month title have to include veteran Patrick Donovan, Kid Karisma, Alexi Adamov, the Enforcer, and sweet rookie, Angelo Blanco. Rock Hard Wrestling is putting up the beauty and burgeoning wrestling prowess of Cody Nelson and Travis Storm. Now that I’m tracking Thunders Arena again, I feel compelled to throw in Ace Hanson (I think his “Custom Series” came out this month) as well as Thunders’ monster rookie STL and everyone, and I mean everyone’s high class jobber Cameron Mathews (who’s showing up in new releases in both Can-Am and Thunders, raising my overexposure caution flag). I haven’t even had time to mention it, but the Naked Kombat performance of Phillip Aubrey this month was extremely satisfying for me, perhaps topped only by the domination of July’s homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month, Trent Diesel by the muscleboy Ken-doll who goes by the thoroughly pornboy name, Ryan Rockford.

Holy crap! The good news is that the market is thick with new products, lustworthy wrestlers, and stories that are grabbing me hard. The bad news is that I’ve set up for myself the task of choosing just one for my favorite homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month. I’m sorely tempted to pick a rookie, to just drive home my plea for continued recruitment and promotion of quality new talent. Admittedly, I’m far too poor to have actually seen all these matches, so quite a bit of this decision hinges on the packaging (which is shaky ground, I’ll admit). But there’s nothing left to do but to do it. My favorite homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month, out of an extremely crowded and brutal field this time around, is…

…the Enforcer.

The Enforcer appeared this month in BG East’s new release, Masked Mayhem 7. He put his gorgeous body and undefeated record on the line against militia-looking meanie, the Marauder. I’m very, very happy to say that I have seen this match, and it’s an epic battle that takes my breath away. These big, big boys are brutal. They accomplish a key element that I find a major turn on, that being that they hold my suspense. Both of these guys are amazing salesmen and accomplished wrestlers. And the Enforcer is as pristine and timeless a classic masked wrestler today as he was six years ago when he first stepped into BG East’s ring to lay some brutal, completely unnecessary, muscleboy beatdown on the already humiliated and destroyed Brad Rochelle.

Whatever it is that the Enforcer is doing to keep in shape, he should bottle it and make a fortune. He looks every ounce as stunning and absolutely identical to his devastating form 6 years ago. More than just looking “as good” as he did, he just looks exactly the same.

He remains creepily quiet in his matches, which is a challenge for someone like me that lives for the humiliating dialogue in the ring. Nevertheless, he communicates it all with great skill. He grunts, gasps and groans, and I find myself on the edge of my seat waiting for the next sound to get pummeled out of that massive chest. Despite his notorious humiliation of an already destroyed Brad, the Enforcer is no untouchable squasher. He takes his hits (and occasionally, licks). He suffers and squirms. That big, powerful body gets as good as it gives. And in Masked Mayhem 7, once again, he turns me into a grunting, gasping, groaning mess. And for that, the Enforcer is my homoerotic wrestler of the month.

Mr. Universe

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WrestlingExcellence recently posted some choice clips from the 1951 movie, Mr. Universe. Actor Vince Edwards plays the title character, Tommy Tomkins, who is voted “the world’s most perfect man.” His notoriety ends him up in a pro wrestling con. The blond, blue-eyed, babyface hero takes effortlessly to ring wrestling, using “the world’s most perfect” body to lay some sweet muscle beatdown on proboy after proboy.

Apparently, the story develops into a character piece as Mr. Universe is instructed to take a dive. Sure enough, he takes some hard hits back to back, suddenly turning from a wrestling prodigy into a flat-footed chump as the crowd screams bloody murder.

Like every bright-eyed, idealistic Mr. Universe, Tommy finally can take no more, and he once again employs “the world’s most perfect” body to rally. Apparently, he takes control, muscling and maneuvering his barrel-bodied proboy into one stunned, suffering move after another.

Haven’t seen this, but I like the concept. But frankly, between you and me, I think that the hard hunk that Tommy defeats in his bodybuilder competition, “the Atlas of the Alps,” could out-muscle and beat the living crap out of pencil-legged Tommy. That’s a flick I’d like to see!

Rare Beef

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I’m pretty sure that Mr. Mike at Thunders Arena believes me when I say that I meant no harm in prior comments about Thunders seeming like a side dish of wrestling (rather than a main course). At least, Mr. Mike tells me that I have permission to post Thunders Arena pics on my blog, and that seems friendly enough to me. And frankly, after Joe’s interview with Mr. Mike and wrestler Ace Hanson over at Ringside at Skull Island, I’ve been taking a fresh look at Thunders after a couple years away from them. Since the last time I really took a look, Thunders Arena has been setting a much more well-rounded table. And there’s a particular beef entree that’s making my mouth water.
I like this. I like this a whole, whole lot. There’s no turn of phrase that’s going to communicate quite authentically how much I like this, so let me just repeat myself for emphasis: I like this.
This is Coupe. You know that I’m frequently going on about muscleboys, muscleheads, musclebutts, etc. But Coupe is a different animal entirely. Coupe is a muscle freak. Not all muscle freaks are guaranteed golden in my book. There’s a point at which too much vascularity, too little body fat, and a physique that essentially has GNC tattooed across the ass crosses over into curiosity-rather-than-sexy territory for me. Coupe, however, is millimeters shy of that line, meaning that I’m simply captivated by every image and every clip I find of him.
He’s done some adorable behind-the-scenes clips on Thunders TV, several hamming it up and gratuitously throwing down with Cameron Mathews. Coupe has a self-possession, sense of humor, and humility about him that makes me completely at his mercy. And, of course, there’s that phyique…  speaking of being at Coupe’s mercy, he’s lately been launching a barrage of arousing wrestling fantasies in my imagination that involve me getting squeezed, tossed, pummeled and squeezed (I know I said that twice…) by every limb of that muscle freak physique. Take me for a ride, Coupe!
I could chew on that for days.
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O Captain, My Captain

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Pics from the set of Captain America, starring superhero everyman, Chris Evans, are popping up to make us ache. Chris’ body is so stunning that it makes me gasp just a little even when he’s fully clothed.

A cynic (not me) might wonder if there are prosthetics involved in these pics. Clearly, he’s wearing some fake feet, which is just weird. But my vote is that those astonishingly massive shoulders and bulging biceps are all Chris.

A paparazzi pic from a year ago caught Chris in a similar shrink-wrap shirt, and although his shoulders and pecs may not be quite as ponderous, I’m willing to believe that a year of knowing you’re about to portray Captain America in a multi-million dollar film could account for the distance it would take to get from a year ago to the set pics from just a few days ago (which clearly isn’t far, in any case).

Chris and his slapstick-hottie-twin-separated-at-birth, Ryan Reynolds are both eating up superhero parts left and right with pecs so sweet that they deserve to be in a comic book. I can’t help but picture these two as covering so much of the same ground that their paths must cross and they must find themselves pec to pec, wondering if there are enough parts for smart ass funnymen with achingly gorgeous bodies. That idea forced me (forced me, I tell you!) to write a high stakes fictional wrestling match for the two of them. If I absolutely had to pick which one of these two would win a nasty, balls out pit battle, I think the tale of the tape would be extremely close. That’s the way I wrote it, though I did come down with one definite winner in the end. I can’t say that anyone (especially me) really lost out in this wrestling fantasy, though. With both of them continuing to strut their pecs in superhero flicks, I could imagine a rematch could be required at some point.

Rookie Delight

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I’ve been harping on the notion that homoerotic wrestling may be going to the same well too many times, putting it in danger of growing stale and uninteresting. I can be such a nagging bitch sometimes, can’t I? Just one more blogger who’s ass is firmly planted in the back seat and still trying to drive. Someone needs to give me a knee to the gut, then a headscissors until I just about pass out, followed by a commanding, hard drop across the knee into a prolonged over-the-knee backbreaker (can I suggest Rafe Sanchez would make a good disciplinarian for me?). Sitting here, all smug and certain of myself, it dawns on me that there are actually a lot of new faces showing up in homoerotic wrestling in the past few weeks. I’m not above retracing my steps and giving credit where credit is due. So today, I just want to celebrate a whole lot of new faces that are instantly making my blood pump faster. 

First, and possibly most promising in my book, is Angelo Blanco from BG East’s just released Masked Mayhem 7. So perhaps we can’t call him a new “face,” since he’s masked, but I swear I’ve never seen that long, lithe, sweet and sweaty body before… and I’d remember it. Masks are inherently erotic to me, so Angelo Blanco’s debut in a mask would already be a sweet centering of homoeroticism even if his nicely packed crotch didn’t keep getting in the way in his hard, nasty mat tussle with Skull. His cock seems to be nearly as distracting (and impressive) to him as Joshua Goodman’s is to Mr. Joshua. Angelo Blanco is not exactly a muscleboy, but he’s fantastically fit, oozing sex, clearly turned on by the match, and I’d beg on my knees for the opportunity to get squeezed between those legs and run my hands across that sweaty chest.

I’ve already composed a gushing ode to the new face at Rock Hard Wrestling, Travis Storm, so I won’t belabor the point too much here. In this batch of rookies, Travis runs a close second in my hopes to see him in many, many more matches. He’s a good ol’ Southern boy with great timing, sweet salesmanship on both ends of the stick, and an ass in need of a lingering spanking (and I have two hands free as soon as I finish this post).

I’ve only recently been taking a fresh look at Thunders Arena, so I’m not always clear who are the new faces and who are the faces who are just unfamiliar because I haven’t been keeping track. But I think #3 on my list of new faces I’m lusting after in the current homoerotic wrestling line up is Thunder’s muscleboy, Edge. Cam Mathews is once again the high class hottie pushing another hunky rookie into muscle dominating stardom. I’ve just watched a preview, but his bull dog on Cam, smacking the top of the jobber’s head hard onto the mat, makes my head hurt a little and my crotch tingle a lot. If this battle took place in the ring, I’d pop a blood vessel.
Again, in order of who I’m hoping to see more of or fantasize about facing off with myself is BG East’s Gino Gotti in Gazebo Grapplers 11. It seems a little dangerous to beat the crap out of someone named Gotti, but I’m with Kieran Dunne here when it comes to a focus on  laying this hot Italian stud out and making him cry out in pain. It sounds like Kieran is way to up is own ass to be bothered noticing the astonishing rookie specimen that he’s picking to pieces, which is a crying shame. I’m rooting for someone with better taste to make their introductions to Gotti next.

Again, you’ll forgive me if I’ve got the wrong end on this, but I believe Thunders Arena’s gargantuan muscleboy, STL, is another rookie bringing something new to homoerotic wrestling. There’s something both stunningly handsome and fresh-out-of-diapers about STL’s face that makes its placement on top of that thick, astonishingly powerful body deceptive. I’m captured by the image of me in an STL bearhug, squinting through my tearing eyes directly into his kid-next-door face, and being crushed between his hydraulic arms and those hot, sweaty, beefy pecs.

The last in this current line up of rookies who deserve credit (and their producers who deserve my apologies for overgeneralizing about the unimaginative state of the industry) is the enigmatically named D Fuller, appearing in BG East’s just released Big and Beefy 6. At six feet tall and listed at 215 pounds, this is another massively packed babyface. I’m not sure which gods D should be cursing for being fated to make his ring debut (hooray for fresh ring meat!) again Bulldog Barzini. Even a rookie the size of D would have to be the underdog against the beatdown alpha dog, Barzini. The preview pics of this match ignite a recurring fantasy in my mind of me at ringside, watching the big boy rookie beatdown in person, and at the moment that D is battered, subdued, and and stretched vulnerably and helplessly in Barzini’s clutches, the Bulldog gives me a nod and invites me into the ring for a closer look. D is bitter at the added humiliation, but he’s defenseless as Barzini immobilizes him as I appreciately kick the tires, stroke the upholstery, and take a long, deep whiff of that new rookie smell.

So I’m duly corrected by the evidence at hand. There are some delightful, inspiring, sexy new faces keeping me aroused and my imagination fully engaged in the current options in homoerotic wrestling. Full disclosure, I’ve only seen Angelo Blanco’s match and Travis Storm’s match in its entirety of the rookies mentioned above (which probably accounts for why I rank them #1 and #2 in my lusts and fantasies… I recommend them both). But if the rest of these new boys stick around long enough for my wallet to catch up to them, I’ll be happy to tell you more about what I find.

Oppositional-Defiant

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I hate conformity. Not to say that I don’t do my share of cow-towing conforming, but I hate it. Squeezing everything and everyone into the same package just makes me feel so… closeted somehow. What brings this existential thought on at this moment is Google. Google has just told me that I have to use the new, “better” Blogger editor. And suddenly I can’t find the font size that I want anymore. The text is either too small or WAY TOO BIG!!!! The font size I liked in the old editor just isn’t an option anymore. I must conform to Blogger’s interpretation of progress. I hate conformity.

I had a social worker boyfriend once who told me that I was oppositional-defiant. Apparently, I was supposed to feel some shame about that. It’s apparently the clinical diagnosis that they give kids who are on their way to being officially labeled sociopaths once they’re adults. But “oppositional-defiant” has a ring to it that I like, somehow. Whatever it means clinically, I like to think of it as a highbrow way of saying that I march to the beat of my own drummer.

And so when I must conform, I’m resentful. The brilliant minds at Google not only have recently told me that I must conform to use the new, “improved” Blogger editor, but I also have been using Google Groups all wrong for the past year. Despite them having a web address, I’ve been informed that the two wrestling fiction group sites I administer are not, in fact, “websites.” I must migrate all my wrestling fiction and graphics somewhere else, because they will delete my pages and files soon. I’ll be happier, they tell me, following the directions and conforming. Straighten my tie, they tell me. Part my hair down the side, they say. Don’t be too outrageous or “alternative.” Be happy with the choices that they’ve given me and forget about what I was already quite happy with that I can’t have any longer.

So clearly, I’m working through some issues with all of these directives from Google. I’ll be bitter for a while. I’ll resent Google and their evil genius minds systematically taking over the world and turning us all into obedient capitalist consumers (okay, so I’ve also been told I’m paranoid). But eventually, I’ll get over it. And frankly, in the mean time, I’ll conform despite myself. I’ll send out instructions on where the wrestling fiction migrates to. And if this damn font size makes you squint, don’t complain to me. Take it up with the evil geniuses who are making me conform, subdue, restrain and tolerate the choices that they think I should have.