I watch Impact drunk. It's just what I do.

I watch Impact drunk and think you should too.

The screen gets all blurry. There's no bald head on Sting.

Hogan walks straight to a nine sided ring.

It alters the things that I do and don't see

Like Bull Ray's wool cap that speaks softly to me

"Ralphie! Oh Ralphie, " I hear the hat mutter.

"He uses me as a napkin when he eats sticks of butter!

Help me...or don't!" So I chose the latter.

I guess he's what they mean by "Wrestling's Fatter."

Matters? That's it? Well, who woulda thunk?

Tis not me, for you see, I watch Impact drunk.

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Mr Kennedy's there, but he's got a new name.

Anderson, like the window, yeah - it's pretty lame.

He's a champion now, but that might be the rum.

Cause he lost clean to Gunner and that would be dumb.

Maybe I dreamed it. The belt isn't his.

Like drunk times when I use the toaster to whizz

Sting got mad at Hogan and painted him red.

Again, I'm just drunk. He may have just bled.

Hang on. I'll rewind it. That can't be what happened?

What...Words on the screen? Oh shit, I turned on closed captions.

Yup. Looks like he did. Sting fingerpaints Hogan.

Now they're speaking in Spanish!? This remote's f**kin' broken!

So I get up to change it, but fall with a clunk.

Yes. Thursday's my night, for I watch Impact drunk.

I don't need it in English. Besides, I hurt my kidney.

I'll just ponder things like, "Would I really do Dixie?

She's looking quite good this week, but taller, I'd say."

Oh shit! That's Matt Morgan! No more drinking today.

I put down the beer. I toss down the glass.

I pour out the vodka and get off my ass.

Settle back in the couch, and put up my feet.

And watch Spanish Joe and Spanish Van Dam compete.

This poem was real fun. Perhaps I'll make it a song.

Yo, Jeff Hardy, buddy. Please pass me that bong.

This stuff is real good. Some Cameron Skunk?

Yeah. I'll get high...

whenever I...

... can't watch Impact Drunk.