There was a time not too many moons ago where The Friday Grapple was set to be the biggest and best thing to happen to the internet since the ‘Clear browsing history’ button. With solid reader support and an enthusiastic Marketing team, it looked as if it was set to take off faster than my Dad on my 2nd birthday but as the weeks roll by it’s become clear that it’s destined to be less successful than my attempts at tracking that sonofabitch down for some goddamn child support! I’ve had to give up the dream of selling out for a #1 hit collaboration with Pitbull called ‘Grind on me by the DJ baby gurl (but only if you like me because I respect your autonomy as a woman).’ Likewise, ‘Friday Grapple: The Movie’ is currently languishing in development hell. I just wished I hadn’t already contacted this kid from Bad Santa to play myself:

Of course, as the Uncle Ben of Corporate affairs once famously said ‘With great commercial failure, comes great cutbacks’ and so it is with tremendous regret that I must read out the following list of redundancies. In alphabetical order:

Daniel Parker, Head of Marketing & Publicity

Yes it is with a heavy heart that I have been forced to release Danny and wish him the best of luck with his future endeavours. It is probably a heavier blow since I have chosen to deliver this news via this Grapple he’s now reading. And it’s probably an even heavier blow when you consider he’s also just lost his ACTUAL job. Still, he needn’t feel too glum with a broad set of skills such as ‘Able to change font on Microsoft packages’ and ‘Proficient in using a wide variety of stationery’

So then, let’s get down to why we’re all here and review what’s going on in wrestling at the moment and…I’ve got nothing! Absolutely nothing! Truth be told, I haven’t even watched this week’s episode of Raw. And that’s not because I’ve suddenly got myself a life or anything. In fact here’s a list of things I’ve been doing recently INSTEAD of watching wrestling:

Watched an exhilarating game of football where my beloved football team, Arsenal Wenger, played brilliant football and managed to score more footballs than the other team and, by doing so, won the football cup.

Experimented with Veet hair removal cream (for men)

Emailed Dianna from Tinder technical support in order to report a further software issue with Tinder which seems to be preventing women from replying to my messages, no matter how erotic they are.

Sent nude photos of myself (post Veet) to Dianna from Tinder technical support

Avoided phone calls from the legal team representing Dianna from Tinder technical support.

Point is I haven’t found the time to watch wrestling because I haven’t made the time. It’s all just so meh at the moment with CM Punk officially retired and Bryan shelved with a broken freakin’ neck, there isn’t anyone else on the roster that’s been built up enough to pose as a satisfying replacement. The other issue plaguing our beloved sports entertainment is how stagnant the storylines are at the moment. I take my wrestling like I take my pornography, with intricate stories and solid character development building towards an epic climax. So until Kane comes round to fix the plumbing or The Great Khali hails a suspiciously spacious taxi driven by a seedy cockney geezer despite having no cash to pay before getting driven down a conveniently located country lane in the middle of Central London I….what was the point of this again? Oh yeah, wrestling’s a bit sh*t at the moment.

Now here’s the part where you gather round and listen to tragic stories about my pathetic attempts at engaging another desperate meatbag to build a parasitic bond built upon solid foundations of mutual contempt and a chronic fear of dying alone. Or a ‘love life’. Well forget it chumps, because I’ve actually had success in this field recently. In fact, you’ll be shocked to hear that a beautiful young lady actually followed me home from a club the other evening. Strangely, she adopted the southpaw ‘following’ style of walking 20 metres in front of me at all times and nervously looking over her shoulder before breaking into a brisk jog when the gap between us closed. She followed me in this manner all the way to her house at which point I realised it had gone too far and I had to lose her. And the intervening police.

And if that wasn’t enough, I totally made eye contact with another stone cold fox at a recent BBQ I invited myself to. After a few beers, I was feeling confident enough to put my trousers back on, emerge from the shrubbery and engage some young ladies in conversation. I even thought it was going pretty well for a while. She even laughed once. Sure, it was at someone else’s joke and it was at my expense but it still counts. I soon realised my folly however when she started playing Candy Crush and refused to continue the dialogue any further. I mean fair enough if she fancies a quick game but to actually watch her go to the trouble of downloading it first was a bit hurtful. Still, I guess it’s all a learning curve and I’ve learnt that girls apparently aren’t impressed by a man’s ability to list 50 Spider-Man villains. With diagrams.

Whilst we’re on the topic of ‘anecdotes as exciting as Nickelback’, I turned 24 last week. In terms of the day itself, it’s up there with the best, right below the time I got a one squarer on CatchPhrase (it was “Ghost Train”). Went to Comic Con and drew a crowd with a 5* No DQ match against Wolverine. I say crowd but I guess technically it was more of a queue for the hot dog stand. Still, they enjoyed gorging on their phallic meats to the view of Wolverine laying out Spider-man with a Stunner, thus guaranteeing him another title opportunity.

The downside of turning 24 (apart from having to explain to people that I’m a 24 year old wrestling fan AND a heterosexual) is that I’ve now become the guy who makes all those terrible jokes about getting old. The last few days I’ve heard myself spouting drivel like “You think I’m 21? I WISH!” and “Yep just turned 20….AND THE REST!!!’ along with ‘What? You reckon I’m 29? F*ck off you slippery gypsy!” My favourite though is when I’m describing how I went out two nights in a row and finish with “I just can’t handle it anymore at my age”, implying that I used to be some sort of exciting Bantersaurus Rex #outonthelash every night of the week . A bold faced lie when considering that at uni, a night out for me consisted of walking to the off license for 3 litres of Frosty Jacks and a family bag of Birds Eye Chicken Dippers before sitting down to watch as much Extreme Fishing with Robson Green as I could before being sick all down myself’.

If you’ve made it this far I can only apologise for wasting your time. Please direct all hate mail to the comments section underneath and return in the future for what will hopefully be a more wrestling focused edition. Until then, leave me alone.

Kicking out!