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..You probably know me by my fighting name: Rikishi-Mawashi, which means "Castrated by twisted mawashi", but my friends just know me as Runt.
Don't forget the annual Sumo Fatty-Dipping event is coming up. (That's sort of like Skinny-Dipping, except . . . , Oh, well I'm sure you get the picture whether you want it or not). Regretably, the tradional Simultaneous Splash of the Sumos has been banned from all futher meet due to the tsunami that resulted last year and permanently removed 3 islands in the South China Sea from the face of the earth.
We're still looking for photos of Gendai Budo-Sodo from when he got beached last summer. Some people were unable to view the horror on the villagers' faces as they dragged his fat bare ass back out into the ocean.
Later this fall, the Running of the Sumos will take place in downtown Toyko. Sadly, last year 3 people were trampled to death by the stampeding sumos--but at least they died honorable deaths.
With the growing popularity of female sumo wrestling, keep in mind that F.A.T.S.O.S. (The First Athletic Trust for the Sorority of Ovarian Sumos) in order to finance their continued growth (and growth . . . and growth . . . and more growth) will be having an all-you-can buffet this June. Whoever consumes the most in 30 mins. will win a prized freshly wore autographed mawashi from their favorite sumo.
Normally, of course, in order to keep my fine physique for fighting I sit on my ass for months at a time doing absolutely nothing, I won't even exert any energy to bathe.
I'll eat half a cow, 4 or 5 turkeys, a few dozen chickens, a mess of ducks, a couple netfuls of fish, 50-60 lbs. of potatos, and a few cakes and pies to chase it down with. Then when I get hungary later in the day I'll eat a large meal for lunch and dinner.
Recently, however, I went on a crash diet since that picture was taken: I lost 3 lbs.!!!! Wow, do I feel like a new man!!!!
I admit, Antartica probably ain't the most ideal place for sumo rasslin'. It gets a mite nippy down here in the summer and the winters are as cold as . . . , well they are colder than ice. So just imagine rollin' around in the snow wearing nothin' more than a mawashi. Yeah!!! Ouch!! Frostbite on my butt cheeks more than once. And there's not a dumpster for diving on every street corner: in fact, it's pert near impossible just to find a street corner.
You probably know me better by my fighting name: gendai budo-mawashi, which means "castrated by twisted mawashi"--kinda of a nickname I wish I'd never earned. I've been thinking about having my surname changed to Moore so that when there's a roll call (last name first) I'll be Moore-Ron (okay just think about it. It ain't that difficult). So, anyway, it's hard being a sumo sometimes. After all, we are the Elvises of the sports world. And of course, our fine physiques inspired the thong.
So if you've made it this far, there's BIG news in the sumo world--HUGE, HUMONGOUS--and I'm not talking about the wrestlers. How would you like to own your favorite sumoes competition mawashi. Just imagine straight from the sumo's groin to your hand, not even washed or anything. (But how would you wash a giant leather thong?) So if you want to bid on these fabulous items for the charitable cause of supporting anorexic sumoes, just log onto fatboysdiapers.com. (If you can't find it, you probably waited too late.)
Last weekend I had cookout for the entire neighborhood. I roasted 3 whole cows. My meddling manager tried to tell me that I was overdoing it, but I reminded him that one of the cows was for my guests. It's kinda of ironic the way my manager is always trying to throw his weight around, when puny don't weigh no more than 150 lbs.
In the evening, we played sumo limbo. If you haven't played before, the sumo lays flat on the ground and he has teammates that try to push him under a two foot high pole. (Just picture those people on the beach trying to push a stranded whale back into the ocean.)
Of course, there's always the problem of having a hot tub party. We actually have to heat an entire Olympic size swimming pools--which actually doesn't take as long as you might imagine if you have a couple of dozen sumoes lighting farts . . . (Never mind. Let's not go there.)
It weighs on me sometimes thinking about how women fight each other just trying to get close to sumoes. You know, all the clawing, scrathing, hair pulling. It's really sad to think how many bald, blind women there are out there because of me.
So, at times I've considered a change of profession. One career I've given serious consideration to is stand-up comic (even though I have no sense of humor).
The problem with stand-ups, however, is that you have to have a gimmick. So the first idea I had was to draw on something I knew--dumpster diving. I would go on stage and claim to be the ghost of a dumpster diver. Well, as you can imagine the audiences saw right through me. I kept dying on stage. The audiences were always booing me and pelting me with garbage, not to mention that the material was really trashy. I quickly lost my spirit.
So for my next act I adopted the guise of Ray Show, the funny math teacher. Well, that act was kinda square and it never quite added up. Times after times I tried to postulate sum new material, but my thoughts just kept going around in circles 'cause the area of the subject was so limited. My audiences were always divided. Sum thought I was without equal. Yet the numbers never multiplied, and the owners of the clubs always wanted to set sum perimeters for me. There really were no pluses, and I kept earning less and less. I guess the act wasn't very punny.
My next act was to be a hermaphrodite that got myself pregnant . . . with triplets--one of each. But the whole body of the material was not well defined. My temperment was always changing. Sometimes I was a bit of a di . . . (Oops, I forgot children could read this, so I better not go any further before this turns vulgar.)
After years away from the limelights, I have recently had thoughts of returning to stand-up. My new act was to be that of a necrophilious gravedigger. I had to dig really deep inside me to come up with that idea. But while I was trying to unearth that project, I was buried alive with my other work. I was a working stiff throughout the whole ordeal. I felt like I had one foot in the coffin. And quite frankly I was scared to death of my own material. And since I'd been out of the biz for so long, I'd probably have to go underground to bring my career back to life. I'm not even sure how many people would have dug the idea. After just the first performance I knew I was dead meat. I was mortified just getting back on the stage and the audience was completely lifeless throughout.
So anyway, in other news, the 13th annual Dumpster Divers Invitational is about to get underway. If you've never been, dives are performed into fully stocked--ready for emptying--dumpsters. Dives are judged on originalities and injuries result in deductions. Last year I missed out on the title by losing an eye on my final dive. On the plus side, I did find two legs and an arm (Just not sure yet to do with them. Right now they're just doorstops and paper weights).
