Rocky Bagboa
Rocky’s got the stare down stone cold badass style. And by stone cold badass, I mean poseur choad douchebag.
If I were a paid pugilistic champion, I would match his masterly stare-down with icy coldness, then upper cut him into the ropes while two ten year olds held up a misspelled sign in the background.
Ring Girl is ten rounds of card holding goodness. I would discuss Frazier/Ali wearing a 1970s tweed jacket in a smoky gym on 10th Avenue if it meant I could speedbag her speedbags while adding additional rips to her cleverly sliced jeans. And, for the cheap seats, speedbags refer to her boobies. Because they’re both soft and round and you slap them lightly when in an exited physical state of activity. Thus speedbags. Boobies. Like speedbags. Only they’re boobies.
I enjoy explaining sexual euphemisms and double entendres. Because it lets me type the word boobies. Boobies.
Rocky’s wristwatch is the sports watch of the 80s. It tells time simultaneously in Monte Carlo, Beverly Hills, London, Paris, Rome and Gstaad.
