Patriot Dispatches

From My CP: Hell in a Cell, Sputnik Monroe vs. “The Civil-Rights Icon” Rep. John Lewis

I have to thank everyone in the United States for my Christmas and New Years happiness.  It was a wonderful holiday season because I spent it in Colorado Springs with my wife, Doris.  That rocked, but on Christmas Eve afternoon when I was sitting out on the porch in a hoodie, enjoying everything Colorado is famous for as well as the 60 degree weather, everyone else across America was sniveling about the frigid apocalypse.  Sure, it was 20 below zero in Minnesota with 45+ mph winds, it snowed on my “snowbird” parents who migrate to Port Isabel, Texas in November.  It snowed on my daughter in Georgia and my Daughter-in-law in North Carolina, I know how bad two inches of snow will screw your world in the deep south.  The only thing running through my head that afternoon was “Welcome to my world, bitches.”  Who still thinks globull warmening is a bad thing?  I drove back on the first of January and saw several birds of prey in the mountains, an owl, a couple hawks and more than one eagle, even a pair of Pronghorn Antelope standing in the ditch, apparently debating crossing the road.  That was all still in the mountains, the closer I got to the plains the further the temperature dropped.  Nothing was coming out in that weather, the hawks in Nebraska may have been hungry but hungry was better than being out in the cold.  By the time I hit Nebraska it was six-below, -17 by the time I reached my house.  We had a couple days above freezing since then but, as you’ve noticed it’s basically cold and shitty followed by more cold and shitty in the forecast.  Still, your tears during the frigid apocalypse warmed the cockles of my heart and I must thank you.

If any of y’all are fans you’ll remember my first post-Obama/No Hillary post revolved around a Johnny Cash song, “God’s Gonna Cut You Down.”  I thought we’d move on from the bitch but that wasn’t to be.  She kept injecting herself into my life with her crocodile tears, blaming and blowing of snot-bubbles.  If for no other reason than her refusal to slink off into the company of The Greatest Losers of History and the DOJ opening an investigation into Uranium One, the Clinton Crime Machine (or foundation or whatever,) I think it’s time I dedicate another song to the old whore.  Here’s to you Hillary, and here’s to you and my dreams colliding one day soon.  Here’s a glimpse of what you should expect in my dreams…

I doubt it will ever happen but it is fun to dream,.  In my dreams Hillary, Comey and Mueller are in gibbets just outside my windows so that I can enjoy their sobs as I drift off to sleep.  I picture myself in the White House and the traitors on the South Lawn.  I’m cruel and twisted that way but Comey and Hillary’s  sobs especially would lull me to sleep like an old Luke the Drifter song.

I’ve mentioned before that Martin Luther King Jr. should be stricken from the record, all his statues should be torn down and the streets named after him given numbers.  Me and people like me are the only ones who have learned anything from him.   The National Association of Racist Niggers even describes him as a socialist.  WTF is that bullshit?  Once again Democrats do not fail to disgust.

I’ve been a professional wrestling fan all of my life.  If we drove straight home from church when I was a kid I could catch the American Wrestling Association on one of the three channels we got. Verne Gagne was the Champion, most of the time, and he was the promoter.  It’s nice to be the boss.  I grew up with the likes of “The Crusher” a polish immigrant who used to carry kegs of beer home to his drunken father.  Baron Von Rashke who was a school teacher in St Paul but was 6ft5 and 350 lbs with hands that went beyond palming a basketball to being able to crush one.  I remember Dusty Rhodes and his sometimes tag-team partner Jessie “The Body” Ventura 20 years before he became Jessie “The Governor.”  The likes of Sergeant Slaughter, “Hacksaw”  Jim Dugan and his best friend/mortal enemy “The Iron Shiek.”  To set the record straight it’s not fake, it’s scripted.  Sure there are some pulled punches, the moves are often pre-planned, a wrestler will (usually) tell his opponent what is coming up next but even if you know he’s going to fling you 6 feet into the air and land on top of you when you hit, its going to hurt and it’s entirely up to you to take the fall the right way.  If you don’t land right its your fault, as the Infantry likes to say, “Suck It Up and Drive On.”   It’s all part of putting on the show and the only thing that matters is the show.  Like gladiators in the roman coliseum the only thing that matters is if the crowd is entertained.  Men have sacrificed their health for nothing more than entertaining the crowd, Mick Foley (pictured above), my personal choice for “Greatest of All Time” is one of those.

Anyway, lets get back to the story, which does include a professional wrestler from 1959.  Sputnik Monroe was a well established “heel” wrestling in Memphis, the Ellis Auditorium.  A “heel” is one of the classic wrestling personas, he’s they guy who cheats to win.  He’s they guy people pay their hard earned money to see him get his ass beat.  Of course the “hero” is the one expected to deliver the ass-whoopin’.  Sputnik had been a talented and successful heel for some time.  He was known in the bars and on the streets of the black neighborhoods.  He was arrested several times on charges of mopery and such.  What in the hell is mopery?  Sputnik’s response, each time was to show up in court represented by a black attorney and have the case dismissed.  As his private life lost its privacy, his character was involved in a script with a very popular hero, Billy Wicks.  The build up drug out, it could have been driven from a sneak attack by Sputnik on Wicks.  So they get a match, when Wicks is the obvious victor Sputnik grabs a folding chair and bends it to a 45 degree angle over Wicks.  Sure Wicks wins by disqualification but that’s far less than satisfying for the fans.  Now Sputnik really needs an ass-whoopin’ of a major order.  Ticket sales are soaring, Sputnik’s reputation in the neighborhoods is too.  Soon ticket sales are doubling, selling out.  The matches set a record that stood till 1998 and the “Raw is War” era.

Sputnik’s black fans started turning out in droves.  Soon Sputnik the “heel” is more popular than the “hero.”  Except Sputnik’s black fans had to sit in the balcony while white fans who paid the same ticket price sat ring-side.  Somewhere along the line Sputnik decided enough was enough and refused to fight until his fans could sit ring-side alongside the white fans.  I really like the way “Otis Gibbs” tells it from here…

Compare Sputnik’s “heel” and the “The Civil-Rights Icon” Rep. John Lewis (D).  Sputnik made the ethical decision, he took a stand and was very proud to have been “standing on the ground where King stood,” as he should have been.  Sputnik passed in 2006.  Rep Lewis (D) actually marched with King, you’d think he may have accidentally slipped across some actual knowledge or understanding.  All he learned was how to enrich himself and wield some power, for cash of course.  He led his people from the democrat’s Jim Crow to the Democrat’s War on Poverty, never ending and never a battle won but the only loser was the black family and culture.  I imagine Martin claws and gnaws at the lid of his casket every time Lewis opens his pie-hole.  Lewis and Jessie, two-sides of the same turd there.  Both corn-laden and steaming.

Here’s one more from Otis Gibbs, remember, keep your darker side close, don’t make it hunt you down, hold it close to your heart, you’re gonna need it soon enough.

Retired Paratrooper, Biker, Tattoo Artist

About nessa

Retired Paratrooper, Biker, Tattoo Artist
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There is probably no greater insult to the memory of Martin Luther King than the fact that there is such a thing as the Congressional BLACK Caucus.

Bernard Chumm

As always