I am concerned about My Backyard Wrestling/Reading Group. After two years of civility, professionalism and friendly competition, the group has suddenly become extremely polarized. One camp, lead by my charismatic new neighbor Bill “Flesheater” Hayes, is beginning to employ technically illegal moves like the Don Delillo Manta Ray Death Clutch and the Purple Prose Neck Hold. Last week the ref caught Bill using the long-banned and patently dangerous Erma Bombeck during a friendly cage match. The other camp, consisting mostly of more seasoned veterans like my son’s school librarian Linda “Pussy Trainwreck” Newton and professional raconteur “Metaphor” Mike Taylor, are beginning to sit out the matches in protest.
What was once a way to blow off a little steam has quickly spun out of control. The other group has tasted blood, and it has made them wild. Splitting their infinitives with brazen Libre Luche moves, fracturing narratives and dislocating shoulders, sneaking in dirty punches and even dirtier punctuation.
It is enough to make me want to become a drug mule for my father’s dry cleaning service. Or a ghetto pimp for the local Whole Foods Co-op. Or a government snitch for a local independent record store. Or an organ donor for a daycare center.