Well, I was drunk the day my mom got out of prison
And I went to pick her up in the rain
But before I could get to the station in my pickup truck
She got run over by a damned old train
That it’s King Kong Frank’s birthday is completely lost on the big burly brawler from the back-woods of the Great Smoky Mountains. Frank wasn’t born in a hospital, and nobody ever bothered to file any paperwork and get the government involved. His ol’ mammy an’ pappy didn’t exactly trust those city slicker types, especially the kind that likes to flash a badge or pass a law.
As it were, every time anybody “official” ever came around, they were either arresting Frank’s pappy or trying to take him away from his mammy.
So, while the universe might remember that day forty-odd years ago that the Hillbilly Jesus came sliding into this world breach and half-strangled by his umbilical cord, Frank himself had neither any recollection nor any inclination of such an occasion.
To be frank (get it?), there’s an astronomically higher chance of Frank being aware that today is National Drink Beer Day than there will ever be of him knowing or celebrating his birthday. But let’s be honest, every day is Drink Beer Day when your name is King Kong Frank and you make your living through some combination of rasslin’ and brewing ‘shine.
As such, it shouldn’t be any surprise to find the Wild and Wooly Mammoth of the Mountains lounges on a wooden rocking chair with a thin blade of grass jutting through cracked lips and a pile of spent and crushed Natty Light cans littering the porch around him. David Allan Coe croons on through the tinny speakers of a long overused radio and Frank considers the recent and future happenings going on around him as it pertains to Classic Wrestling.
I reckon I gots me a fight on my hands this weeken’ when I step in there against that big dumb bay-sterd Gordy Lovett an’ that fat roly-poly looking sum’beetch Shoo-jin Yamalamanumi in the MAIN EVENT on Classic Rasslin’ tee-vee!
S’posed to have me a partner in ol’ Freddy Kilgore, but ain’t nobody heard from him in a couple-a-few weeks now an’ ain’t nobody sure if he’s gon’ show up.
Frank snorts, spits out the grass, and blows a snot-rocket onto the ground off the side of the porch. He crushes another beer and continues.
Reckon it don’t matter none either way. I’mma take them two boys out behin’ the woodshed and give ‘em both a good whuppin’ the likes that ain’t neither one of ever’ likely to forget!
An’ iff’n ol’ Freddy does decide to show up, the more the merrier! I know he’s got as much beef with that fat-body Shoo-jin as I got with Gordy Lovett, an’ I bet he’s got a whole mess of reciepts ready to hand out just like I do!
An’ I’m happy to mind my own business with Gordy while Freddy handle’s his with Shoo-jin, but don’t think I ain’t got my eye on bodyslammin’ that big ol’ boy just as much as Freddy does! He better think before he comes barkin’ up this here big redwood, an’ that squeaky little manager of his might better go talk to Walt the Weasel about what happened to when he got up in my face flappin’ his gums about that Colossal pain in my rear end that he calls Lord!
The sheer idea of the Master of Voltage and his painted-up pet mouthpiece brings the bile up in Frank’s throat. He hacks and hocks and lets fly the kind of loogie that middle school-aged boys used to dream of before their parents started giving them iPhones at six years old.
An’ that’s all I got to say about that!
There will be a time, and there will be a place, but today isn’t it.
Gordy. Shoo-jin. I hope you fellers are ready.
We gon’ have us a good ol’ time come Sunday night!
Well, some of us is… the rest of y’all gone end up in the hospital, suckin’ down mashed taters an’ drinkin’ through a straw. King Kong Frank ain’t got no time for none of this bullcrap, and you boys’re about to find out exactly what that means!
I’ll see you boys soon…
He cackles maniacally, them boys are in trouble with a capital T.