Way back before I was forced into blogging, I wrote about WWF and that they're not what they seem to be. I mean, get real will you - how can anyone save anything when they're bashing their heads silly on the wrestling stage with loyal viewers from around the world? Or, perhaps, its the heads of those viewers who are being bashed in by meaningless violence which begets more meaningless violence? Perhaps its a good thing the wrestling show changed its name and acronym to WWE. Still, within the same vein, it could read World War Earth! Oops! I forget, some of my close buddies are their fans. Sorry guys!
When I wrote about the WWF last, it was actually about having to visit one of those (much dreaded) masseurs. Now, I don't mean the kinky type, but those real 'tukang urut'. Those makciks and pakciks who can help heal even a broken bone, off course, with their crunching pain as well. The wrestling part I mention comes in this manner: one minute you're lying flat on your back with the pakcik picking out your veins, and the next, you find yourself crawling for the nearest exit, in vain hope that the pakcik won't notice. Well, tough luck fella! Not only are the makciks and pakciks hands like the clutch and talons of an eagle, their eyesights are as sharp too! Worse still, just like the WWE series, you have a live audience watching - those other patients queueing up with some bodily ailments of some sort! What a sadistic world this is!
Anyway, as much as I do dread stepping onto the stage, I find myself in dire need to do so; my right leg does not seem to be getting much better. In fact, its the heels which is bothering me more than before. Perhaps I need to unlearn the military walk where each step begins with the heel touching the ground first. Hmm...that's a good thought! Wonder why I never thought of it before. Heel, cakapaje! Heel!