by Buck

January 9, 2008

I’m a big fan of the original Toughman contests. We have a very strong chain of these events in West Virginia and I never miss the festivities when they arrive in Huntington. Last Saturday night was the Huntington show and what a show it was. These events feature everything a man could want: flowing beer, scantily clad babes announcing the rounds in pole-dancing fashion, a raucous crowd of wild, redneck hillbillies, and at the center of it all holler monsters doing their damndest to beat the living shit out of each other. 

Pardon me while I catch my breath, it’s almost too much to ask in a single evening of entertainment—and yet they deliver. What’s more, I’m friends with some of the Toughman staff and every year by the second or third bout, I’m upgraded to ringside seating. 

I’m not sure how many of you were actually on hand for the event, but I’m sure as widely read as the WVSR has become there are at least a few who made it to the Big Sandy SuperStore Arena and caught a glimpse of the story I’m about to impart and can vouch for me. I’ve often heard of people being privileged to be part of these kinds of things—but last Saturday night was my first first-person encounter. 

The ring-girls at these events are a tawdry lot. They are white trash honeys that find parading around the ring in scant attire to be their calling in life. I don’t know it for a fact, but I would guess they are all strippers. They are way too aware of how to tease the crowd to not have some prior experience. 

Therefore during the semi-final round the ring girl Ashley came to the ring. She was so eager to flaunt her bits, she didn’t even bother taking the big card with the round number on it. She moved from side to side of the ring alternating with jiggling her fairly small boobs and shaking her thong clad ass. When she arrived at my side of the ring I was watching her from about four feet away. 

Suddenly I was sure I saw a nipple pop loose. However, as I was asking myself if that’s what I actually saw or was it wishful thinking she turned around, bent double and gave a bird’s eye view of her crack. I assumed this was a strategic move to “readjust”. I was right as I observed the dangling titty. The problem (for her, not me) was that she overcorrected and in covering the exposed nipple—revealed the other. 

Unaware she turned with her hands in the air and continued to shake the bee-sting size appendage for a good 30-seconds as the crowd of horny rednecks went WILD! Of course when she realized what had happened she covered up and acted all embarrassed. It’s pretty clear the embarrassment was fake—since her next outfit was nothing more than SUSPENDERS DUCT TAPED TO HER BODY! 

Beer, fighting, and bare boobies. Like I said the redneck Utopia. The only thing I regret is that early in the fight I was snapping pictures with my cell phone and e-mailing them to Jeff Kay. Of course when the wardrobe malfunction happened—my phone was tucked away in my pocket with no time to pull for a shot….what a memory that would have been. 

When she returned to her seat, which was right beside mine, she apologized profusely. A boy about 8 years old seated nearby looked at her and said, “That’s a first!” I handed her a dollar and started yelling at the next set of fighters.

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