I.Q. 238

Weight 579

A human monster in disguise!

And here's something more for the perusal of the elite: since then she's not lost a single, solitary bout--chain match and all! How free flowed the blood, how free, how free ....

And that's not all. Now every pro wrestler worth his salt in Barbados cheese is hopping like mad on the merry bandwagon bound for stars and Dallas.

Bruno, that bundling bastion of gentlemanly grappling, revealed in a candid expose in Ft. Worth last Tuesday that when he finally throws in the crown and hangs up his multidimensional belt of heroes (for you newlyweds, his men's Worldwide Heavyweight title (he too will take the plunge, scalpelwise ...

Already he shatters the blue-eyed common senses right in the old beano as far as pure, good-hearted superiority goes. A little known fact about the Mammoth Samaritan is that in a recent backroom, unofficial test flight of a proposed new branch of the Sports of the Nation and the World, Bruno beat hands down and reduced to less of an inexorable mishmosh of spare parts and erector set oil than he recently did to Stan Hansen, that Octopoid Bell-boy, JOHN KENNETH GALBRAITH had to be picked off the floor with Brillo and a sponge. And Bruno just used words!! (More about this next ish.)

Stan Hansen, a sea creature (called cul-de-sac-of-pus by his friends) so guileless and cunning that he shouldn't even be allowed to make neurological decongestant ads or even be on welfare, one-two-threed his way into a state of protoplasmic regret when Bruno finished dicing him through the Great Steel Cage. He actually ripped Hanson's face off--yanked the pulpy flesh right off his doggone skull. Ex-transvestite. Hansen, whose eyes had long since disappeared to leave only streams of orange blood, mistook a kindly referree for his phantom foe. But he didn't even have the strength left to beat 165-er ref Bob Morgan. A happy day for justice, fans.

Hansen's doctors say that if he ever wants to play the violin again he'll either have to develop muscular chest hair or be prepared to bow with steel hooks. Ha ha!

So anyway, Bruno has raised the purple hem, revealing that when he tires of the Men's Worldwide Heavyweight Title, he's going for the Women's! Woo woo!

Extra, Extra:

The gals in Bluefield, West Virginia can rest easy tonight. Fired on by the wrath of the small jade idol he occasionally worships, loveable wrestling scientist and general all around lady's man Bobo Brazil beat the scurrilous and deceitful Man Mountain Mike in the sport's first loser-loses-sex match.

Both humongous titans had a lot to lose (Bobo being a reference standard for the Sexual Consultation Group's virility experiments, and Man Mountain being a Mormon), but however much the multiligimented meatball curmudgeoned his swaying flesh to do his dark desires, it was all for naught. Supple young Brazil whupped him to bacon fat. Bobo truly sent the Mountain to Mohammed!

But the Man Mountain is among the few not to find switching sides a tempting treat. He plans to use the year of grace provided by the sympathetic winner to decide if he wouldn't rather just quit. He already has a host of legal wizards and kin poring over the challenge document, looking for a loophole big enough for the bulbous Mike.

Sure, sex changes are trendy. But the big question is : are these mighty Moes as happy as Digger the Dog? Well, joyous readers and Lebanese alike have reason to put on the glad bag feeding mask, for in general the overwhelming majority unanimously cries out in pearly wontons: "Si, si, senior!" The thousand-year-old egg reads like this: Bulldog Brower says, "I've never been happier. You can't imagine what the story is until you give her a go."