On a Saturday night in November of 1985, I began a guilty pleasure driven love affair with the world of professional wrestling. When the romance started, I mainly watched televised matches featuring the biggest superstars soundly beating wrestlers who had absolutely no chance of victory. Those losers (some lovable) term of endearment was (and is) jobber – as it is their job to make the superstar look as good as possible on their way to victory. Continue reading
When I was 13 and a 1/2, I attempted to break the barrier and make myself known to a girl…
I didn’t ask her out until three years following that.
Garry Shandling would have understood and appreciated this. Continue reading