Thinking about scissors too much these days

Last night I was feeling a bit randy but decided to temporarily quash my aberrant sexual desires and hitchhike on over the cinema and view a motion picture.  There were literally thousands to choose from and I stood like a bronze statue in front of the marquee for several hours rendering my decision. 

Eventually I decided upon Ridley Scott’s new swords n’ sandals epic Exodus: Gods and Kings.  I can still recall with such nostalgic joy when the movie was simply titled Exodus and all the subsequent fist clenching rage I experienced when the new title was announced. 

Buried deep within the Corinthian leather folds of my wallet I happened upon a coupon for a large bucket of hot buttered popcorn and large soft drink.  I requested extra butter on the popcorn and once the bucket was in my already greasy hands I poured on some extra salt.  I selected Pepsi cola for my large drink and the resultant combination gave me a swift and powerful stomach ache roughly halfway through the picture.  However I kept shoveling the corn into my gaping maw as it was impossible to resist.  I like going to the movies, few things bring me as much satisfaction in life.  Though I once knew a woman named Camilla who was a fry cook by day and fetishist by night with whom I had 2 standing dates scheduled during each business week with the entire arrangement lasting roughly two and one-half years.  I would request for her to wear unwashed nylons while she slaved away in the kitchen with her feet crammed into leather pumps and then I would politely ask her to relax for an hour at my place following her departure from and use my face for her footrest.  She would start by removing the pumps and placing the opening of one on my nose and laughing right at me.  Then she would knock it off and lay both of her nyloned feet on my face.  She would tell me what a loser I am and then order me to kiss them.  She would also apply a unique choke-hold with her soles and tell me that I am pathetic and completely beneath her. 

I’m not sure if it was the queasy feeling in my gut or the searing self hatred pumping through my veins but I greatly enjoyed the film!  I believe those looking for a deeply religious experience or something to nourish their faith and spirit will not find what they are looking for with this movie but I would posit that almost no biblical films (in the sense of a movie which presents a story directly from the bible) accomplish this.  Rather, I think this worked very well as a costume drama with some good Scott spectacle and action.  I also loved the final scene though it is almost at odds with everything else in its tonality.  There were plenty of flaws but nothing too egregious.  Perhaps the worst: Scott’s decision to Nolanize the movie by offering more “realistic” versions of the various plagues and miracles actually does the flick disservice by robbing it of a sense of wonder and awe. This is especially true in what should been the obvious epic bombast scene with the parting of the Red Sea which is sadly stilted.  If comparisons must be made I don’t think this will be taking the place of The Ten Commandments anytime soon but it gets a hearty thumbs up from yours truly and that’s probably all that matters!

Discussion of this film is a perfect segue to some other movie related news.  Upon returning home from the multiplex I lay down on my bourgeois sofa and began pondering the great many fallacies of my tortured existence.  From the corner of mine eye were the flashing red and green lights of the Christmas tree and all around was the tinsel and the silver garland and I had such a strong desire to consume the entire bottle of sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet and wash it down with a tall glass of white wine.  I would like my last meal to be a fresh steaming hot pizza but last night it would have been a bowl of Cap N’ Crunch (with soy milk because cows are for calves). 

I began to search madly through the internet.  Outside my home, off in the distance, a dog barked.  By happenstance I stumbled upon the newly released trailer for Terrence Malick’s latest film Knight of Cups starring none other than Christian Bale himself along with other folk like Cate Blanchet, Natalie Portman, Antonio Banderas and Wes Bentley.  It’s no secret that I am big obese Malick fan and that pretty much his entire filmography ranks in my faves.  The Thin Red Line is to date the only war movie I would say I love.  I typically hate war movies!  They are rife with bad storytelling and stock characters.  I’ll say right here that Saving Private Ryan is highly overrated.  Apocalypse Now is okay I suppose.  The Deer Hunter is fine.  There are a few others.  I feel bad now saying that …Ryan is overrated, I know a tremendous amount of work and dedication went into that film and I know many people who love it, many who worship it like a pagan god.  Anyway, I love this new trailer and I am pumped and psyched to see the movie!

Other Malick movies I love include Badlands, Days of Heaven, The New World, Tree of Life and To the Wonder.  Knight of Cups appears awfully similar in some ways to his last two movies and that is fine by me because they make me moan in ecstasy.  Those who are fanatics about my blog will recall my beloved friend Calvin Black.  Years ago his parents viewed the film The New World and savagely despised it.  To my knowledge Black himself never viewed it and it really was not something that came up much in conversation.  I respect the Black family’s opinion wholeheartedly and one of the most joyous things of cinema – indeed, of any art form – is the difference of opinion and spirited debate!  I will say The New World was badly mismarketed and portrayed a very different type of movie.  Sometimes I fall asleep with a copy of The New World clasped tightly to my bosom.  I recall watching an episode of 60 Minutes which had a segment on Nigella Lawson.  When asked why she thought men liked her (more specifically, some of the men who watch her programs but have no interest in cooking) the first thing she said was “my bosom”.  I love Nigella but I’m not entirely sure if my love is linked so directly to her bosom.  Maybe my memory is deceiving me and she didn’t say that at all and if so then I wish to offer a sincere apology.  I’ve been a fan of hers for years and I suspect I will be until the long overdue day of my death!

Also, if any of you dear readers have partook in a session with Lady Milady please respond in the comments below and let me know the particulars and your overall level of satisfaction.  I’ve developed quite an unhealthy fixation and before I empty my Swiss bank accounts and travel around the world I want to know if she is the right girl.  Thought I desperately hope this is the case. 

You liked my comment

I feel my excitement and fondness of big splash blockbustery type movies is fading into a dark oblivion.  I cannot recall a single movie of this type from this year that I truly loved; there were only a couple I actually even enjoyed.  I find it increasingly difficult to glean any meaning from them and most often when I leave the theatre I leave with a feeling of emptiness bordering on despair.  Am I simply becoming more of a snob?  Perhaps.  It astonishes me now when people see a movie like the Hobbit or Hunger Games or Avengers and declare it the best movie they have ever seen.  Still, those are all well made flicks (I suppose) and I do believe there is genuine passion behind many of the people involved (maybe).  So why do they all feel so hollow now?  Just so much polished product for the masses with nothing to offer but surface thrills. 

What has happened to me?  I think my love for this type of movie died with 2012’s The Dark Knight Rises or 2013’s Man of Steel.  It would be more poetic to conclude it was the former but probably more accurate to go with the latter.  Even more accurate still I could say the summer of 2013 had a trifecta of big giant tentpole movies that disappointed on some level: the aforementioned Man of Steel, Star Trek Into Darkness and Iron Man 3.  Plus, in winter there was the bonus of the second Hobbit movie in Peter Jackson’s endless adaptation.  I’m actually a bit surprised he didn’t split the upcoming third movie into two parts.  I just can’t do it anymore. 

See, all this time I’ve been thinking my overall lack of enthusiasm or hope for the upcoming stupidly titled Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice was due to a lack of faith in Warner Bros/DC to successfully launch a sustained comic-on-film universe but I realize this is not the case.  It’s true that I do not believe in them anymore after so many botches and it would not surprise me at all if BVSDOJ is crap (and I predict it will be embarrassingly outperformed by Marvel’s Captain America 3 just a little over a month later) and that goes for the recently announced Suicide Squad and all the other upcoming movies on their slate.  I want to believe they can and will be good – even great! – but I am unable. 

But that alone would not quash my enthusiasm so violently for there have been plenty of movies I’ve greatly anticipated where their quality was always in question.  No, I realize my lack of enthusiasm is simply because I no longer respond to this type of movie.  They no longer thrill me.  They no longer move me.  It’s hard to say if I would even be able to truly recognize a “good” one from a “bad” and almost impossible to say why I no longer enjoy the big giant multizillion dollar movies.  Has there been an overall decline in quality these past few years that has drained away my passion?  Or have my life experiences changed me sufficiently to where I’ve simply, and not condescendingly, “outgrown” them?  Maybe I once needed them and now I do not.  Or maybe it’s something else entirely. I do feel slightly sad that I no longer enjoy these movies as in the past.  I will surely still watch all of them which seems a tad strange.  Maybe one day my enjoyment will return, maybe stronger than ever! 

I had a wonderfully aromatic erotic dream this morning, excellent color and denier and perfume of the gods. 

The newest episode of Lucha Underground aired last night but I’ve yet to have the good fortune of viewing it.  This is partially due to my being exceptionally busy these last couple nights, reviewing ledgers and analyzing current investments as well as new prospects.  Yet it is more due to the fact that as previously mentioned I do not receive the El Rey network and as such I will be unable to view this episode until it re-airs this Saturday on Unimas.  However I did hear that it was a corker of an installment and I greatly look forward to this hour of television.  I’ve often dreamed about starting my own wrestling federation.  Who knows if I will ever go through with it?  Back in 8^th grade I met a girl who I swore I would love for all my life and I broke that vow.  From an early age I established a toxic reputation of breaking promises and not going through with things and this has put the value of word in the proverbial dump.  I am about as undependable a guy as you will ever have the misfortune of meeting. 

I find that I know less and less about who I am or who anyone else is.  I’m not sure how to be honest anymore.  I tell so many lies to so many people on a daily basis that it is now an entirely natural, utterly inescapable thing.  There are so many instances where there is no reason whatsoever to lie but I do it anyway and I have no idea why.  I must confess that for some time now – I would say the better part of 2 years – I have been taking something that is absolutely not good for me.  I tried it once because I was looking for something new.  The first time I was not impressed at all so I do not know why I tried it a second time but I did.  The second time I was also unimpressed and I understand even less why I tried it a third time but I did.  The third time did it.  I was hooked and I could not get enough.  From the moment I woke up to when I left work or at any given time on the weekend I wanted more.  My thoughts, desires, motivations and ambitions were subservient.  I have tried to quit on several occasions but I always fail.  I believe the longest I was able to last was a period of 3 weeks.  As stated it has already eroded away at my spiritual core and it is beginning to take its inevitable toll on my relationships.  Two years putting this inside myself and I want it now more than ever.  No one knows about it because I lie to everyone.  I will likely continue to lie until I hit rock bottom and probably afterward as well.   

Thank you Marcela, it was the only time I felt good today. 

Need your hold items

Client called and reported that he is going to be living in a trash can and eating large quantities of reconstituted soybean extract for the foreseeable future.  I told him we depend on his fencing skills and still we give him only hogs and applesauce with which to survive and thrive.  I then proceeded to put on a cheap brown suit and stupid hat and waxed poetic about the president and the problems in Kosovo, so stringent are my political ties it was difficult for me to haul my behind out of bed this mornin' but I did so that I could eat a big helpin' of ma's pork and beans. 

In my Americanmobile we’ll drive away.

Worry not, everything is okay

Those were the first two lines to a song I wrote while I was a sophomore in my high school.  I never forgot them as they were to be one half of the infectious chorus on what was sure to be a crossover pop rock smash in the vein of Hootie and the Blowfish or Dave Matthews Band.  I believe I wrote those lyrics whilst in physics class. A fellow student had erotic fantasies about the physics teacher but I never shared his desires.  Mostly I just thought about baseball at that age.  Ever since I was a child all I’ve ever really wanted to do is play major league baseball. 

B.C. has never been one of my favorite comic strips. Something about the artwork prevents my conversion into a hardcore borderline schizophrenic fan.  Yet what am I to make about B.C.’s recent comments to the press?  That is a truly a pickle wrapped inside the belly of a conundrum.  On the one hairy hand I must completely concur with his statements and yet I cannot deny how they incite me to anger.  I love the word cholesterol.  Sometimes I spend hours sitting on an old wooden stool doing nothing but repeating this word.  Sometimes I even say it with an elegant British accent to please all my European fans out there.  I love Eurotrash villains in movies.  I also love European dance music, real electronic shit.  I’m talking about the dizzying, amazing stuff that was most popular at the turn of the century.  When I look back upon my time in Spain at the millennium it is the dance clubs and the sheer sugar rush of that music which I most remember.  Of course, I also recall walking home at 3:45 in the AM and being savagely mugged and left to die in an alley.  All I could think about was the loaf of bread I’d left baking back in my home in the States.  I vowed that were I to survive I would eat half that loaf with real butter and the other half with boysenberry jam.  I survived but I inevitably broke that promise to myself as I break all my promises. 

People tell me I look like I’ve been working out lately and I tell them it’s all in the jeans.  The jeans and the extensive Muay Thai training I’ve been receiving down at Smitty’s Gym.  Martial arts have always been passion.

Did you once tell me there would never be any other?  Was that before or after I drew purple swans on a dry erase board. Ah, but the dark truth of the matter is that I did not draw those swans at all.  It was actually a secret double agent of the Soviet government who was/is hellbent on learning all the secrets locked away in the dusty corridors of the inner hallways of the gregarious mansion residing on the dangerous and dark street located in the aristocratic neighborhood in the snooty suburb of the sprawling metropolitan city of the future in the corrupt and northwestern county of the fiscally hemorrhaging red state of the glorious and cantankerous country located in the ancient and nigh otherworldly continent positioned between two supremely wet and glistening oceans that fill up a substantial percentage of the dying planet in the far off solar system of my brain.  They forced lumpy oatmeal down my throat but I never said a word.  I refused to squeal.  I’m too loyal to Blue Glyph Motors, the highly successful engineering enterprise I coincidentally founded while a sophomore in high school. 

I think I have just discovered a strange and wonderful new thing: nylons and oatmeal. Hosiery and oatmeal.  Right now at this current juncture in my life I can think of nothing greater.  Nylons and oatmeal.  Just those two words together provide such joy and splendor.  I must explore.  Scissors too.  Please wear the turquoise heels. 

I didn’t take the drug but I’m still feeling the side effects.  Its one of the many consequences of being a sensitive man like yours falsely.  Do you remember all those times I was wrongly accused of murder?  How about that time Jack raped Jill and they tried to pin it on Peter?  I swore then I would never fall victim to their dogmatic persecutions.  Why did you decide to film my death scene on vinyl record?  You should have known your desires with that technological format would simply not be compatible.  I tried to warn you but you always think you’re so damn smart.  You’re smarter than me, that’s for sure.  I bow to you superior wisdom.  If I were you I would never wish to be me even if a sorcerer offered me 6 delicious pink cupcakes if I allowed him to perform the spell that would switch us places.  I see you running up a hill right now. 

You lost all your hair in Vaseline related accidents. Then you lost all your care in trampoline related abstinence.  I was there and watched it all from a birdlike perch.    

I don’t want to listen to the message.  I am so afraid.  Please be okay.  Let it all not drown. I was not born for this.  What has happened to everything?  Why is everything nothing and my words are like fine toothed combs and your face is like a snowman melting all over the bodies of murdered milkmen. 

Languages escape from the knees and elbows of a thousand athletic men.  You never ventured to the lands we once called foam.  I’ll bathe in liquid paper only when the world decides to return my phone calls.  Who are you to judge that which you know everything about?  Please donate 57 million dollars and in return I will give you vulcanized rubber.  Let’s pave the streets with the physical manifestation of our collective failures!  Texas Instruments may indeed make the best calculators but they’re still second to the giant Wheel of Death inside my brain!

I can’t escape from what I’ve done.  I cannot believe any of this.  There is too much Ritz crackers in the world for any of my lies to actually be truth.  I have lived too long inside the belly of a whale.  You’re going to have to perform some type of half ass autopsy on a fish.  Did you ever think it would come to this?  We fly even though there is no one standing beneath us to shine blinding light into our eyes.  I will have my vengeance hahahahahahahahahah!

I should have taken the chocolate

O (Part 5 of 10)

May I please walk with you?  Exhausted is the new purple.  I'm not quite sure what I mean by that but I think I have an idea.  I feel so much love for you, so much desire and faith and connection.  Every morning I seek you out in desperation and fear and every night once more that I may feel some tenderness and hear your voice.  Temptation gets the better of me every day.  Using clichés such as those does not provide me with any sort of pleasure.  

I asked you once if you were Catholic and you said yes.  You whispered a melody to me and now I cannot get it out of my head.  I've wondered what sins you confess when asking for forgiveness.  Were you bitter last time?  What a selfish and awful thought.  Even when I am deep in the throes of desire and surrendering to these obsessions I feel so close and my body contorts and I bite my tongue until I draw blood and I lay naked covered in sweat and my head starts to hurt.  Tears always well up in my eyes when I think of you.  

All these questions, you're the victim, I'm the whore.  

I have such fucking style.  They tried to send me to back of the train but I refused.  That was another version of me that said this.  A version bristling with confidence and barely contained sexuality.  This version is almost entirely illusory but it is a delightful fantasy that sometimes pops into my head in these crucial moments.  

Somewhere I can heal someone yelling the word "bastard" and saying how impure I am and that they are going to kill me.  

I often go with the first impulse but rarely is that correct.  There were times I thought to read her.  I have a sneaking suspicion these memories are not my home.  I feel sick and wonder what is happening to me.  I do not believe one night would be sufficient but what a fantastic romanticized thought.  And then such bracing feelings of negativity and pure fierce hatred.  I don't understand anything and I wish it stays this way.  Why did you ask if I was okay?  That was such a beautiful moment.  Twice it was so beautiful and I know it will never repeat itself again.  I destroyed too much because that was all I knew how to do.  

And still I wake up and plead for forgiveness.  I grab hold and refuse to let go.  It's like I've died before.  And I learned how to come back again.  Oh no, I'm lost again.  You think that I'm a friend; I wander empty hallways and scream out names.  I bang the walls and scream again and I bloody pretty faces.  Up in the air is a castle I imagined I could reach but this was never true.  There has never been a proper time to tell you.  Every word exhausts me.  Will you tell me it will be okay?  I think I would believe it if it came from you.  Blue and black, I am always lost in these, over and over again.  

I'm not trying to revive myself; I've spent it all before.  Stars grandstand and swear so much each night.  I fail to see the humor in things.  It's like you've already killed again.  You're the greatest thing.  

I don’t convince anymore when I am in groups.  My face betrays me.  

I run through the stations, screaming and fleeing back and forth and wondering what truth I have found in all these different worlds and what sweet brainwashing have I allowed.  You click your tongue and then I taste your skin and the light hurts my eyes.  There is so much energy surging straight for the center and the swelling sound of an orchestra.  Fucking abandon everything.  Why did you put that thought into my brain?  I know you didn't.  I put it there.  I have confused you with so many throughout history.  Are you somehow all of them at once?  Why do your eyes still strangle me?  

I look for signs and I hear voices inside.  You are slowly driving me insane and I am deathly afraid of what I keep seeing from the corner of my eye.  There is such loving humiliation in those hours.  You hold my hand right until the end.  These moments are all disparate.  Teach me to walk.  

I see this beauty and I fall to my knees and I reach and fail to grasp.  I live inside a lie.  I can't trust any words from my mouth.  I thrust myself against the rights of no one.  I am waltzing with a strange deformed figure.  What are these things to left and right of me?  I acknowledge all these faults and it changes nothing.    

You tell me nothing frightens you anymore.  Lover.  Everyone I see is you.

I can't fit all the words into the space you've given me.  Nothing makes any fucking sense.  I can't fucking think.  It's like my thoughts have burned inside your mind.  You've called me a slut.  I can't wait to try.  I can't stand outside in the snow anymore.  I've never been to this city inside

us.  

There are floods and people melting and exploding suns.  I am in ecstasy then screaming as my personality is melted away.  You have given me life.  You're making me dream.  I stick my hands inside.  Does it matter if it was written down or if it just appeared?  

I can't say you're good.  We make love to frightening things.  Your hope has turned to liquid and I drink it and I can feel the warmth in my chest.  There is no reason to pretend anymore.  Words have been dropped inside.  They're going to bring a knife to bed.  Everything is what I like.  

It’s like divinity inside my skull.  Trapped inside an atomic bomb with only a deck of cards, everything has adorned its loss.  I see your face across a field of grey.  

You changed the blue

I’ve tapped into a new universal language filled with exciting and startling truths.  I’ve pierced through the veil of chicanery to see the stark dying dreams underneath. I have smelled their festering corpses and gazed into their milky desperate eyes.  I laugh at all the explosive sex going on around me.  I have never felt so alive as when I was this close to sweet impartial death.

So will it be Eddie or Michael?  Or will there be a victory by someone more unexpected?  I have lived my life in the shadows, always saying that I don’t give a damn about such nonsense.  And yet I must admit to feeling a certain sense of yearning for this victory to be realized.  It would be a lifetime of love and devotion somehow brought to the forefront of things in a way I never imagined.  I can’t say “validation”, that’s not right.  You deserve it.  I believe in you.  I love you.

I watched the move Live from Baghdad last night (I’ve seen it before) and then promptly had an in-depth discussion on the various socio-economic effects of the Gulf War with my viewing buddy.  The conversation lasted for roughly 90 minutes during which time I had 3 glasses of white wine.  Afterward I retired to my posh flat and inserted a Blu-ray copy of Samson & Delilah in my Playstation 3 and rested on my bourgeois sofa.  Regrettably I fell asleep during the overture and my dreams were haunted with compromise and uncertainty. 

I recently purchased David Bowie’s new 3 disc retrospective slash best-of slash hits compilation Nothing Has Changed. 

I was crying while I took Polaroid photographs of myself.  I had been drinking that night but only to forget what I’d done the previous nights.  I was laying down on the pool table and making strange faces and taking these photographs and I began to wonder why I do not understand anyone.  Wouldn’t it be lovely if they would all leave me alone? 

I keep seeing myself drowning in an endless expanse of black water.  I can hear music playing and the words are Greek and so beautiful.  It is a very peaceful thought and one which provides me with a great deal of comfort. 

I met a man in the book store today who rambled on about suing the courts.  He was also worried about a potential drought or maybe it was a flood, I was not exactly sure.  He walked by me several times and I considered committing a random act of explosive violence against him but I ultimately decided against this.  There was a new person working the customer service desk and she was quite comely and I requested her help in ordering a book about Wall Street.  I wanted to compliment her but did not know her.  She was a wearing a sweater and a cute pleated skirt with dark stockings and I was surely a creep for noticing.  

We are all caught in a big fucking web.  I turn things on and I don't know how to turn them off again.  I ventured into a plane of thought where there may be no escape.  It was so delicious.  I think I did this before I fell asleep and then again as I was driving.  It was the old familiar fantasy of unbuckling my seatbelt, flooring the gas pedal like SpongeBob Squarepants and slamming the vehicle into a nearby conveniently placed brick wall where I would then be unceremoniously ejected from the car and splatter my brains all over the concrete.  

I am crying while I type this and I have an action movie on in the foreground - Rumble in the Bronx - and I feel slightly nauseous because I drank too much of various things and I am also listening The Time's last album on headphones.  I have the heater of my posh flat turned on as well as a fan which is pointed right next to my head and on the maximum speed.  This makes me giggle.  

Sometimes when I imagine myself lying there dead or dying on the pavement I wonder who may coincidentally drive by at that very moment of my bloody expiration and recognize my vehicle, exit their own and perhaps bear witness to my final moments in this life.  Sometimes I imagine it is you and you are holding my hand and even through the impossible-to-mask look of horror on your face I can still see the beauty and the love and the tenderness.  Oh sweet finality.  

I know things are doing thing inside my head and deep in my brain and I've asked everyone for help in the only ways I know how but no one does anything because no one cares and no one wants to listen.  I have a sneaking and terrifying suspicion that we are all headed to the same place and I don't know why I am the only one who has been cursed with this knowledge and awareness.  I can say that you are all in for a serious surprise.  

The mixed tag team main event between Chavo Guerrero Jr. & Pentagon Jr. against Sexy Star and Fenix on this past week's episode of Lucha Underground was truly spectacular.  El Rey's wrestling program has been of consistently high quality in these initial episodes and it actually seems to be improving week after week.  I was initially saddened that it was only going to be an hour long show - I am used to wrestling programs clocking in at 2 hours - but this actually seems to work in its favor as it eliminates almost all extraneous material and makes each episode a lean hard-hitting jolt of pure lucha (and I stress that last word as the high-flying spots here are spectacular and seem to come every few seconds) action.  The "backstage" footage is equally well done, taking on an almost novela style production on building the storylines and character histories/motivations.  Essentially these qualities almost make it a polar opposite of WWE's Monday Night Raw which sometimes feels like 3 endless hours of 90% hackneyed backstage crap and asinine stunts and 10% wrestling.   So far, Lucha Underground is giving me the perfect mix of storylines and wrestling.  

Regarding this particular match: I am not the biggest fan of inter-gender matches as they are sometimes exploitative (though in other circumstances I have no such issues with this) or unconvincing however this match featured none of these problems.  It helps greatly that the show has been building up this rivalry and that Guerrero Jr. and Pentagon Jr. are doing such great work as the heels.  Fenix is also a top talent and he Sexy Star have fine chemistry and work quite well together.  The match had beautiful flow, I can't think of any spots that were seriously botched and it was easy to be engaged in this battle.  

My only quibble: Having watched Sexy Star through AAA over the years I know she is capable of more than these inter-gender matches allow her to display.  It’s the flipside of my trepidation of such matches as to be able to really sell them she is holding back a bit.  My hope is that Lucha Underground will recruit more Luchadoras than they currently have and build their women's division to allow Sexy Star to have a rivalry where she can really unleash her talent.  One never knows how long this type of program may last but if it keeps up this quality I will stay with it til’ the bitter end!  Here's hoping there is a digital video disc release that I may hold a Lucha Underground marathon party and invite all my nonexistent friends!

Here is a list of folks we are processing: