In last night’s episode of Surviving Barstool, strategy and tact left the building.
They were replaced by brute violence.
The challenge was as simple as it was likely to result in injury.
The key to this challenge was being able to throw haymakers from a position of ill-balanced footing.
Bonus points if you know how to take a punch or two.
Gee, I wonder who would be good at that.
I mean that thing is not moving at all.
It’s packed like a pair of Faberge eggs sold at a Sotheby’s auction.
In the show, I described it as the feeling of facing off against Miss Peaches' stepfather.
I shudder to think of the horrors that poor dog faced at the hands of her previous owner.
It only took one second for him to bash my skull from both sides, and I was done.
The producers called an EMT who ran some tests and diagnosed me withyou guessed ita concussion.
FUCKING CAREER CRIMINALS BY HIMSELF?
Those “foam rollers” were PVC pipes covered in a laughably inadequate layer of tampon fluff.
Those “helmets” were glorified chemical peels better suited to steam out blackheads than protect from blunt-force trauma.
Imagine if any one of those guys had faced off against Ria or Moobs?
Are we even airing this show right now if that happens?
I am sorry to hear that Will Compton’s father oversaw unlicensed child-fighting rings.
Seems like the sort of adversity that would bloom a 10-year NFL career at minimum.
You and me both, brother.
Consider this an invitation to next year’s member-guest.
