the Blog of Dairy

I just wanted to take the time to congratulate MiLk and Hot Butter on their debut on GCW’s Global Domination whenever it was. Not only did they fight in the main event, but they did something gross that I never want to think about again. Please, feel free to enjoy their antics. At least until egg NOG and I come back, anyway.

There are a lot of people (oh, what they heck, here’s some more) that say that tomorrow is the day that Iran is gonna launch a nuclear attack on Dairytown. When reached for comment, Mayor McCheese had this to say:

Sorry that it’s taken so long for me to post about our trip to Russia (honestly, who knew it wasn’t the “Union of Soviet Socialist Republics” anymore?), but it’s taken us twenty-five days to wash the stink of vodka and tomato soup out of our clothes. Anyway, onward, with the LOD’s patented semi-jingoism!

Our journey started mere moments after my last post, when egg NOG and I left to go to Dairytown International Airport (I’m the one in the bowler cap on the left, and egg NOG is dead center in the front), where we were treated like kings. Like kings of wrestling. Oooohhhh, I like that. I bet we can turn that into a sweet gimmick. Where was I? Oh, right, anyway, we landed in Russia to great fanfare. Even across whatever ocean it was we crossed, people love the LOD.

Today marks the day that egg NOG and I (that’d be the Legion of Dairy to you) make our way to the mighty USSR for a solid week of wrestling and commie bashing! Hooray, democracy!

8:30 A.M. - Wake up.
8:31 A.M. - Go back to sleep.
12:30 P.M. - Wake up for real this time, realize that we have to be at the arena by noon. Also realize that we’re huge draws, and we can show up whenever we feel like it.
12:45 P.M. - Enjoy a delicious breakfast of bacon imported from Canada and eggs imported from some farm or something. I enjoy a hunk of cheese, in order to reconnect with my roots and keep myself humble. egg NOG enjoys a glass of his namesake, always forgetting that it’s bad to drink something that rich before you wrestle. MiLk drinks tequila.

I know that a lot of you watched Self Destruction, so you saw us get robbed of the titles. Nowadays it seems like I can’t walk down the streets without someone asking me if I used to be in Foghat (the answer is no, but man do I wish I had been!).

Anyway, for anyone that doesn’t know, at the previously mentioned pay-per-view extravaganza, NOGilles and I looked like the sure-shot next champs. I had daringly leapt from the ladder to take out the last little bit of our competition, and the egg N-O-G to the G-O-N all but had his hands on the title straps, when out of nowhere some crazy hillbilly ghost thing jumped the barrier and tazered him. Tazered him, man. That’s nuts. Where’s the security staff? How’d he even get into the arena with a tazer?

Free Ice Cream Hour:

I think that everyone out there knows what the LOD’s position on free ice cream is (we think it’s delicious), but Mayor McCheese didn’t sound quite as enthusiastic as we do about this idea. Even though he did say “‘Free Ice Cream Hour’ is a wonderful idea,” he followed up with “but I feel that a window as large as an hour may be too much for our fragile ice cream economy. Therefore, I will push legislation through that will make free ice cream a reality, but at a much more reasonable interval.” I don’t know about you, but if it’s anything less than one solid hour, I’m going to have MiLk throw a dead bull elephant into his pool.

As I’m sure you all know, tonight is Mayor McCheese’s 304th “State of the Vaugely Defined Concept Town”, where he’s expected to cover topics like tort reform, and Free Ice Cream hour. Tomorrow, after all the dust has settled, we here at the LOD will bring complete coverage of his policies. And we’ll bring some angel food cake.

Today when I went to go and get the mail, I found a big package from Mayor McCheese. So, I take the box inside and open it, hoping to find some delicious homemade cookies, or maybe some hand knit sweaters for us, covered in ugly squares, or little buffaloes or something. But no. It’s filled with five dolls, each made of poop, shaped vaguely like members of the Legion of Dairy, and under all the poo is a note scribbled in crayon on kindergarten paper that says “Get out, or your next. Also, mow your lawn.”