Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

The Substance of Wrestling

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Someone who recently signed up to read my gay wrestling fiction commented that, after reading this blog, he thinks that he’s just as much a fan of sweaty, naked men as I am. There was something sort of competitive about the comment, which, frankly, seems entirely in keeping with the spirit of what turns me on. So in honor of those who get an extra thrill from slippery, sweaty muscle-bods, here are a few of my favorite things: sweaty, naked grappling.

Some guys are just gifted in breaking out into sexy, soaking sweat. Sweat becomes a major (hot) feature of Casey Cutler’s mat action against Bud Orton in the BG East classic X-Fights 20. Orton looks like he stepped out of the shower about two minutes into the tussle, causing Casey to comment that he’s just too damn slippery to keep hold of! A breather between falls features mutual toweling off that turns into some sensual displays of muscle and power. Both hardbodies are naked and sliding across each other and the mat before the tale is told. While it falls just shy of full on body worship, I love this match for the humor, the explicit sensuality, and, most of all, the slippery, sweat soaked muscles! But what happened to the Wade Cutler/Doug Warren match from this set (or anything having to do with Doug Warren)!? I’m so glad I got my copy before it was dropped. While not nearly as sweaty, it could never be a bad thing to see Wade Cutler drop his delicious bubble butt across anyone’s face.
I’ve mentioned it before, and I’ll likely wax adoringly about it again, but Mitch Colby and Derek DaSilva are both champion sweat-studs. In their recent head-to-head in Crotch Crushers, they’re both soaked within minutes, making a freshly tanned Mitch absolutely glow. While Mitch stays in his trunks (I cry foul!!!), Derek is stripped and hard as a board halfway through the match. While ball torture isn’t really my idea of fun, I confess to being completely awestruck by the sight of a soaking wet Derek pleading for Mitch to pound his balls more as he’s heading to his climax.
I recently re-watched old-school workhorses Rob Cryston and Eduardo in Rip ‘n’ Strip Wrestling for Close-Up Entertainment (found on Can-Am’s site). Like Derek DaSilva, these muscle warriors quickly find their hairy bodies soaked in sweat. Despite some very up close and personal ball licking, Cryston and Eduardo don’t quite convince me that they’re actually enjoying the battle. The lack of chemistry is off-set, though, by Eduardo’s fantastically hairy pecs shimmering with a sheen of sweat.

I’m always on the look out for some genuinely sexy, sweaty action, so let me know if you have some favorites I haven’t mentioned. Sweat brings all the senses into focus in a homoerotic wrestling match, I think. The tactile joy of bodies slipping and sliding… what must be the fantastic musk of man scent… the sound of wet bodies slapping together… the salty taste of the evidence of sincerely hardworking men grinding and pounding. Needless to say, the sight of sweaty, naked bodies on the mats or in the ring is a thing of beauty, if you ask me.

Takes Life. Seriously.

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So here I am, stumbling aimlessly around the house mumbling to myself: “Where’s Bill?” … “Sam’s pecs…” … “Will I ever get to see Alexander Skarsgård and Ryan Kwanten in a sticky, rough sex scene together?” I’m feeling True Blood withdrawals already, and they’re bad.


My dealer, HBO, knows how dull the sharp edges, though. Promos for Dexter, Season 4 are everywhere. And while Dexter doesn’t have the depth on the bench that True Blood does, fresh scenes of sexy, sweaty serial-killer Dexter Morgan will certainly help ease the pain.
Michael C. Hall has the formula for locking in a gay audience, I think. Mix one part break-out adorable gay character role… three parts smoking hot sexy sociopath in sweaty, skin-tight homicidal gear, and two parts of that jaw-dropping bubble butt (one part for each fabulous cheek). That’s the formula for earning my lustful worship, at least.

It took me a few seasons to warm up to his character on Six Feet Under, but eventually I got there. There was something totally disarming about his portrayal of a nerdy, insecure, not-so-long-ago closet-case who’s also a total slut puppy with hardbodied studs throwing themselves at him.

But as Dexter, Michael C. Hall had me from the opening credits (why do I find it so sexy watching him floss?). And frankly, there’s something completely sick (in a kinky that’s-disturbingly-hot way), that Hall just married the woman who plays his sister on Dexter. Clearly, Michael beefed up after SFU to take this solo-lead in Dexter. Thank GOD this whole thing is set in Miami, requiring Dexter to be perpetually pitted out and sweat soaked where the center of his chest meets the collar of his shirt (I just felt a shudder!). Someone understands their audience, with not infrequent scenes of Michael C. Hall shirtless, though they’ve yet to fully unleash the wonder that is his astoundingly round ass. Hall must have it in his contract not to show too much skin below the waist (we get just the barest glimpse around episodes 6 & 7 of season 2). Someone needs to put some more money on the table so that we can all marvel at Michael’s finest feature!!!

My obsession with Dexter, like my obsession with True Blood, inspired an appearance by Michael C. Hall in my celebrity wrestling fiction (his ass features prominently… so to speak). I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up for another match in the Producer’s Ring this autumn. So as I detox off of True Blood, I’m already getting an anticipatory rush from the approach of Dexter Morgan back into my life. Eric Northman, Dexter Morgan… why am I so addicted to gorgeous, heartless killers?

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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James West made me gay. Well, I suppose it was Robert Conrad playing James West in “Wild, Wild West” that made me gay. Well, it was probably the frequent appearances of Robert Conrad shirtless, often tied up and tortured, that made me gay (and into domination!).

Just to be clear, I wasn’t old enough to see the original run of Wild, Wild West. I caught it in one of its endless rerun cycles. Even as a young kid, I remember being in complete awe of Conrad. Every episode was guaranteed to feature him with his tight pants showing off that fantastic ass. And every so often, not infrequently, he’d be captured by some evil genius, forced out of his shirt, and tied up to endure threats of destruction.
Conrad had a chiseled jaw, hot-n-hairy pecs, and a tight six pack plunging down the high-rise pants he always wore. He was a tight little package with a drop-dead gorgeous face. Just to look at him in stills would have been subject for a wet dream, but to see him struggle against his bonds, to squirm and flinch in pain, to be captured and (at least temporarily) under the dominating control of an evil nemesis… yep, I owe a lot of what I am today to James West, via the beautiful suffering-stylings of Robert Conrad.
The producers clearly understood what we tuned in to see, putting him back on the small screen for a couple of perpetually shirtless seasons of Baa Baa Black Sheep. Another decade later, I had such high hopes when I saw him again in the pilot for High Mountain Rangers, costarring his hottie sons, Shane and Christian.
Sadly, High Mountain Rangers had no traction, and Robert did little else on screen after that. Happily, the image of James West, his wrists tied behind his back, his shirtless, hairy chest flexing and struggling, those tight pants hugging every curve of that rocking butt… very happily, that image remains seared in my memory as the thrilling inspiration to a young gay boy’s imagination.

It’s Clobberin’ Time!

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It should come as no surprise that gay boys frequently gravitate to superhero comics. The hypermasculinity, the unnotable nerds with fabulous alter egos, the skin-tight costumes clearly drawn with a loving hand… I’m sure you don’t have to be gay to like supes, but it certainly can’t hurt.


I only dabble in the superhero/homoerotic wrestling crossover. I’m sure someone with real acting chops could both pull off the awesome melodrama and commit to a convincing wrestling performance. But let’s be honest, extensively trained actor/athletes are not the staple of homoerotic wrestling productions.

Still, sincerity can forgive a multitude of sins. The only full-time live-action super-homo-hero outfit that I know of is Eye of the Cyclone. They’re generous with their teasers on YouTube, and they very generously gave me permission to post some of their delicious pics. At times they may be a little too into their own gear, but they’ve got sincerity coming out of their mask-covered ears. They also put up a nice variety of bodies, including a handful with lovely ink. Their product warning says it all: “Warning! Contains scenes with bad acting, camp overtones, and ultra tight spandex… everything you would expect!!!” DynoLad here looks like he’s about to break his villain, Cobra, in half (for the moment).
And this masked-beast is headed for some superstrength ball torture!
I’ve extolled the artistry of John Savage’s Rants, Roids N Rasslin before, but he has to be mentioned in this conversation. His art is a send up to pro-wrestling, homoerotic wrestling, and the stylistic graphics of the comic books we grew up with. He seems to love the evil heels, and in the end, everyone’s a sadistic, hardbody, incredibly hung hunk (that’s a world I’d like to visit!).

Like me, others seem to also enjoy dabbling. BG East (who also rocks for giving me permission to post some of their pics!) has put out a handful of products in the subgenre. Superhero Heels 3: Blue Lightning Strikes displays the totally poundable “Golden Boy” Troy Baker maskless (but how/why would you ever want to disguise that boy?) suffering nicely in the clutches of our superheel in blue spandex. Personally, I’d like to see EOTC’s Cobra and BGE’s Blue Lightening sync up for some humiliating blue-spandexed tag team torture on blondboys DynoLad and Golden Boy at the same time!
Can-Am has done a ton of superhero bits. Sometimes, the gimmick is a little gratuitous, especially when they release a straight-up homoerotic wrestling vid and a superhero wrestling vid at basically the same time… with the exact same cast. If I were more invested in this particular subgenre, I think I’d feel a little used. Then again, any excuse to put David Taylor’s stunning ink and lovely poker on display can’t be so bad.
Personally, I don’t live in Gotham, but if the supes get into a little randy wrestling now and then, I’m happy to visit!

My Kind of Crazy

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So Linda McMahon apparently is threatening to make a run as a Republican to unseat Connecticut Democratic Senator Chris Dodd. To rephrase, the CEO of World Wrestling Entertainment, that brought us such socially profound icons as Hulk Hogan and Rick Rude (with lips painted across his ass), believes that she should be elected as a Republican Senator from Connecticut. From the makers of porn-star inspired Dolph Ziggler may come the next-coming of the self-righteous right.


The McMahons creep me out. Always have. And Linda’s commitment to strengthen the moralizing, hypocritical, gay-hating Republican caucus in the Senate is just despicable. Personally, I’d like to see all the gays who follow professional wrestling boycott WWE, and let’s see how lucrative the pre-teen straight male audience really is.

I’m not registered to vote in Connecticut (but I AM registered to vote! Are you!?), but there are public characters I’d much rather see duking it out in Senate chambers (whether from Connecticut or any other state). If we’re going to continue to elect our government officials from the ranks of megalomanicial entertainment figures (wait… that’s the plot of my celebrity wrestling fiction!), then I’d much prefer to start campaigning for one of these choice, potentially nutball celebrity bodies (I mean, figures):
Will Smith rocks. He put his money where President Obama’s mouth is, and he dumped a ton of his dough in helping the recovery after Hurricane Katrina. So he’s socially/politically minded. He also dabbles in Scientology, so he’s go that “I’m a potential nutball” factor that American voters seem to love. He’s also built a progressively hammer-hard bod since his days as a skinny rapper, so he’s very easy on the eyes. I vote for Will Smith for mayor (of whichever city he calls home right now… Stockholm!?)!
Sean Penn really ROCKS! Sean can’t help himself but inflame the right-wingers. From protesting the Iraq war to shmoozing with Hugo Chavez, Sean has a head for political activism. He’s also opened a can of whoop-ass on paparazzi on more than one occasion, and that’s the type of freak show I want to see in office. And did you see those biceps popping in Milk?! In case Rick Santorum tries to run for office again, I want Sean with a political title and a drop kick ready to knock him on his ass. I vote for Sean Penn for governor of California!
Joaquin Phoenix is a god! He’s militantly vegetarian (I’m swooning already!). He contributed to Dennis Kucinich’s campaign in 2004, so he’s a hopeless bleeding heart liberal. He’s gorgeous. And he’s totally gone off the deep end. We need to vote him into office before he’s committed to a mental hospital. Shave his beard, cut his hair, shower him down (I volunteer for that bit), and let’s elect this man President of the United States.

If Linda McMahon is a legitimate candidate for the U.S. Senate, then I say abandon all hope, all ye who believe in rational political discourse. If we’re determined to let the crazies run the world, let’s make sure they’re our kind of crazies! That’s the political tradition we’re growing to know and love, right?

And the Winner Is…

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I have a continuous awards show running in the back of my head (is that insane?). For best homoerotic casting in a major motion picture: Interview with the Vampire, featuring Brad Pitt, Antonio Banderas, Christian Slater, and Tom Cruise (now THAT’S insane!) in lustful adoration of one another. A prior winner of that award had been Legends of the Fall, starring Brad Pitt’s butt, Aidan Quinn’s milky blue eyes, and Henry Thomas making me feel guilty for lusting after E.T.’s buddy. Obviously, for best homoerotic casting in a television drama: True Blood (the list of gorgeous hunks goes on and on…).

I’m finding the need to add a new category. For best homoerotic directing/acting ensemble in a motion picture: A Single Man. I haven’t seen the film yet, but I’ve lusted after director/designer Tom Ford since his bare-assed photo shoot in Out Magazine.
And Colin Firth, God bless him, has been turning my crank with those puppy dog eyes ever since his fantastically sick, homo-fetish fantasy portrayal in Apartment Zero.
I totally sympathize with Colin’s character (which probably says something disturbing about me). If I had young, clever, beautiful Hart Bochner move in as my roommate, I’d become totally, insanely obsessed with him as well.
And then throw in one of my newer crushes, Matthew Goode. I’m still writing an alternate ending to Watchmen so that his character, Ozymandias (who sees himself as a new Alexander the Great), can consummate a super-heroical alliance with radioactive musclehead, Dr. Manhattan (I’m just writing it in my head… so don’t ask for a copy…).
If it were just Colin and Matthew, even as gay characters, A Single Man might not rate a trophy in the awards show in the back of my head. But throw in gorgeous director Tom Ford giving the stars coaching tips on making their makeout scenes believably gay, and… well, a new category of prize-worthy performance is born.

I hope the film is equally as entertaining as the idea of the the casting/directing ensemble! I vote for Colin’s next appearance to be in the World Gravy Wrestling tournament next year.

When It’s Hot and When It’s Not

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Can we talk? I’ve had something on my mind for a while now, but I’ve been reluctant to bring it up. Finally, I saw one too many gay wrestling clips with a homophobic plot. In 2009, I think that producers and consumers of gay porn and homoerotic wrestling need to abandon the pre-Stonewall plot line that centers around the closet-case who gets violent when called out. Dan White has been dead and buried for over 23 years now, and frankly the idea that encountering an openly gay man should incite a reasonable hetero to violence (whether he’s eating twinkies or not) was always a hateful, bigoted lie.


The Celluloid Closet (both Russo’s fantastic book and the documentary based on it) present the history of gays in film nicely. For most of the history of movies, the only good gay was the gay who ends up killed off. Gay characters, or even just effeminate guys, have long been the object of on-screen (and off-screen) violence. Still today, I’d argue, gay men are counted as less than fully human and less than fully citizens.

So when our own erotica and porn features the plot of “gay panic,” I think it should be a MAJOR turn off (libido-wise and consumer-wise). I get it. Really I do. The story of gay panic violence turning into hot pounding sex (thus proving the closet-case a liar), has an element of humor. The guys who react most violently against homosexuality are, indeed, the likeliest candidates to own real estate in the closet.

But that moment where it turns violent, with the “straight” character lashing out in defense of his heterosexual bona fides, that just kills the mood. Seriously, there are thousands of fantastically hot plots for homoerotic wrestling (well, at least three or four plots). Gay panic is not one of them. For those masochists who can only get off on someone calling you “faggot,” seriously now, there are hotter scenarios to get beaten up to. For the sadists who can only get off by re-enacting a gay bashing… come on now, deep seated insecurity is the root of gay bashing. You can be more creative than that!

Some of my favorite plot devices in homoerotic wrestling include the cocky muscle jobber stunned by the skinny ringer.
I enjoy the underground wrestling tournament motif, which works fueled by asses on the line or solely by machismo.
I think one of the most novel recent ideas was Can-Am’s Fantasy Pro-Wrestling, with the horny consumer transported into the ring to re-write the scenario as it goes along to suit his sexual fantasies (the concept works better than the execution, though I adore Buck Wyld’s ass). Sadly, that consumer’s fantasies are awfully demure compared with this consumer’s fantasies.

I apologize if I sound preachy, here. Perhaps we don’t expect there to be a plot. Maybe I’m the only one who’s interested in the social context of my porn and homoerotic wrestling products. And please let me be clear, I’m ready to advocate for BDSM all the way! But I hope that we can turn the corner and leave the explicitly homophobic storylines to the homophobes.

Eulogy for Eggs

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I feel the need to reflect on the season 2 finale of True Blood, so if you didn’t see it and prefer not to know more about it, you should skip this post.


There was just too much male hotness in that cast. I’m not surprised that they needed to off someone, because frankly, that show has a massive cast and very complicated, multiple plots. One of the recurring hunks was bound to die (it is a vampire story, after all), and I’m sure the writers needed to make room for new characters to be introduced next season.

Moreover, I think they’re having a tough time managing the mind-boggling gorgeousness of their hunky cast. Seriously, there’s been hot male nakedness in at least three out of every four episodes from the start, but the season finale last night gave us little more than Mehcad Brooks and Sam Trammel shirtless.
We saw no more of Ryan Kwanten than the skin-tight sleeveless-t and painted on jeans that he always wears. Alexander Skarsgård was woefully underused. Seeing him thrown to the floor and mounted (plus, plus!), was neutralized by the fact that he was fully clothed and the mounter was a woman (minus, minus…). Stephen Moyer, the weakest link in my opinion, was overdressed throughout the episode. We got a glimpse of Nelsan Ellis, but I’m totally turned off by the “tragic gay” character they’ve written for him so far.
So someone had to die. With Moyer’s weak acting and news that Trammell’s got a new gig, I was so sad to see that it was Mehcad voted of the island. And essentially the ONLY scene in which Mehcad and Ryan Kwanten co-starred was the three seconds it took for Kwanten to off him!? I have a whole different scene in mind starring the two of them, including speedos, lots of sweat, and someone getting tied up in the ropes of a wrestling ring.
It looks like we won’t get to see any more of Eggs in Bon Temps (though, thank God, we got to see everything but full-frontal before he was killed off). My eulogy for him is simple: My sincere prayer is that he’s reincarnated into another HBO series with lot’s of nudity and ass grabbing set in another humid and sweaty climate. The End.

Sublime Suffering

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Some guys love the bearhug, but for my money, an over the knee backbreaker makes me swoon more than any other hold. Chris Geary taps into this fantastic move a lot, here being both owned and worshipped simultaneously.

The mechanics of the OTK backbreaker are initially beautifully simple. The high impact aspect is fantastic, and it writes its own story. One man scoops up his opponent, cradling him across his chest, then drops down to one knee, driving his opponent’s prone back crashing down on top of his thigh. How much more vulnerable and helpless can a man be than swept off his feet and clutched across his opponent’s chest? How much more deliciously sadistic can a wrestler get than to cradle his opponent like a child, then plow his lower back across his leg.
Personally, I think anyone can sell the OTK backbreaker drop. But it’s a much more refined skill to sell the prolonged OTK backbreaker hold. Frankly, I think the physics and kinesthetics argue against this hold. There are too many ways for a victim to squirm, roll, or pike themselves free (or at least throw their opponent off balance). Many of the best intentioned OTK holds end up falling apart because even when both fighters are willing, the balance and positioning are a delicate thing.

So it takes a real salesman to convince us that he is caught and suffering helplessly while bent backward across his opponent’s thigh. My first Can-Am purchase, Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3, features one-hit-wonder (sadly) Marco Denetti just barely managing to handle an OTK finisher on Ed Harte. The funny thing is, while Denetti is totally committed to his performance from go, Harte is an underwhelming salesman… until he’s suffering in the OTK. Denetti can barely maintain his balance with this massively thick bodybuilder perched across his thigh (in fact, there are a couple of collapsed OTK attempts earlier where he just can’t manage it). But when Denetti finally gets Harte in position and presses down on his leg and chest, bending the bodybuilder backward, Harte suddenly kicks it into high gear. He groans like he’s in the middle of a long and sweet climax, and then suddenly his voice raises an octave and he cries out his pained submission. “Do you give, pretty boy!?” Denetti shouts. “I giiiiive!!!” Harte finally cries out. It’s perhaps the only moment in the entire match that I buy, but Harte finally sells me.
My first BG East purchase (I feel like I’m retelling a series of first dates), was Fantasymen 18. While this collection is a little inconsistent from match to match, it features the consummate artist Brad Rochelle being cracked in half, bent backward across Jeff Phoenix’s knee. As a jobber, as a heel, as a face, Brad always commits. In their first of three falls, Brad sells us the notion that Phoenix (who, let’s face it, doesn’t always look like he knows what he’s doing), has surprisingly reversed Brad’s joint torture into applying a bow and arrow. Dragging him up by the hair (love that!), Phoenix then sweeps Brad up in his arms and drops him across his outstretched knee in a classic OTK. Here’s where Brad’s mastery kicks in. With Phoenix prying his captured hunk backward, pressing down on his chin and leg, Brad looks like he’s being bent so far backward that he’s really just about to break. Brad may look like a muscled fratboy, but (my God!) he bends like Barishnikov! And he suffers like no one else can.
Blond muscleboy Phoenix helps convince us that Brad is helplessly suffering. “Do you want more pain!? Do you want more pain!?” he demands. “I’ll give it to ya!” Brad chokes and whimpers, rejecting the invitation to submit. Phoenix has broken out into a full sweat now, the vascularity in his chest popping out as he flexes impressively, appearing to fold Brad still farther across his knee. Brad’s speedo-clad crotch is arched upward at the apex of his bridge, but Phoenix doesn’t pay it any attention (we never see Brad’s jewels… someone needs to find that price point). Eventually, Phoenix breaks the OTK and flips his opponent over to his stomach in an almost-as-hot boston crab. Brad sounds almost like he’s sobbing, crying out, “No, no, no…” for what seems like an eternity. The cocky Phoenix claims, “I can do this all day. Do you wanna give!?” Brad chokes desperately in that stuttering near-sob of pain, suffering just to the point that can’t be believed, before finally, frantically tapping the mat and weakly panting, “I give, I give, I give, I give…”
Now, just seeing Brad and his opponent in tight speedos would be worth the price of admission. But the genre of homoerotic wrestling adds to the spectacle of body beautifuls the element of suffering, control, domination and submission. Brad doesn’t just submit to lose the fall, we get just the hint that he submitted to letting his opponent capture him, torture him, and humiliate him. Brad eventually destroys the blond stud in falls two and three, but without a doubt Brad is at the top of his game when prone, bent backward at an astonishing angle, and sobbing in pain across his opponent’s outstretched leg.

For my money (and yes, I’ve invested quite a bit), the over the knee backbreaker, when done right, is by far the sexiest tool in the homoerotic wrestling arsenal.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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The Olympics made me gay. At least they gave me my earliest appreciation for the athletic male form. I have vague memories (more impressions, really) of the 1976 Olympics (dating myself, I know). I remember more of the post-Olympic marketing of Bruce Jenner than I actually remember seeing him compete (back when he could still move his face, poor man).

There are many Olympians and Olympic moments, specifically, that hold highly charged homoerotic memories for me. For today, I’ll just stick to just one in order to give him the full credit he deserves for enflaming (and engorging) the wrestling homo-imaginings of an awed gay teenage boy.
Alexander Karelin first wrestled in the Olympics in the ’88 games in Seoul. Karelin was basically the Rocky IV character, Ivan Drago, come to life. And even more menacing than Dolph Lundgren, Karelin was not pretty, and he was actually a cold war warrior Russian Soviet (unlike the dreamboat Swede, Lundgren). He was 6’3″ tall and weighed in around 285 pounds of solid beef.
He was a wood chipper/steam roller of a Greco-Roman wrestler. Watching him was like watching a force of nature. His poor opponents, wide-eyed and clearly in fear (super-heavyweights, mind you) were always destined to be tossed around like rag dolls. It was no secret that many of his victims simply rolled over on their backs rather than be slammed to the mat (talk about submission and domination!).
The Sports Illustrated story on Karelin in 1991 connects all the muscleman/body worship dots in my mind. “Karelin is so strong that the muscles in his legs and arms bulge to slightly obscene proportions when they are driving a man to his back.” One man’s “obscene” is this gayboy’s wet dream, I say. This guy is literally so much bigger than life that they simply had to make a comic book hero out of him, which, by the way, is also hot!
He pioneered a move of muscling his opponent entirely off the mat and flinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He was more heel than any pro-wrestler dreamed of being. He was fierce and superhuman and frightening… and this teenage gay boy worshipped him. He was a mind boggling instructor in the homoerotic joys of muscle domination, and I was his eager pupil in awe of his power, his body (that ass!!!), his “I’ll break you in half and serve you on toast” persona.
I read that he’s an elected Russian politician these days, hand-picked by Putin’s party for a seat in parliament. Oh, how I would love to see Karelin bearhug a bare-chested Putin (really, that’s Russian for sexy-macho?), and powerslam him. I don’t know what it would do to the geopolitical balance in the world, but I’d be playing that scene over and over in my sexual fantasies for years to come!