The Flying KD
You were a wrestler, Carl?
Yeah, Toast. It was back in the day on the local circuit. We’d have matches outside of bowling alleys and Wal-Marts. My name was The Flying KD.
What did the KD stand for?
When I got the phone call to join up, I was making lunch and I kinda panicked.
We’ve reviewed your application and we’d like to give you a shot in the ring. What’s your moniker?
You mean my wrestling name? Ugh… I’m… I’m…
…The Flying KD!
I was the only wrestler that smoked. It was my signature. During the matches I’d be smoking the whole way through.
I even tucked my pack into my t-shirt sleeve, but I cut off the front and back to show off my body. My costume was tight!
I was a heel, a bad guy wrestler. I’d insult whatever town we were in and then get “beat up” for ten minutes. It was kicks.
Whoa… a bad guy!
I am The Flying KD. I hate you, city of Orangeburg. And its neighbouring towns.
That’s where I live!
I’m from a neighbouring town!
Ew look at his bacne!
I like his bandana but I hate his words!
Did a lady come to the ring with you in her underwear?
How can I put this? Really hot women are not so interested in being seen at a wrestling match next to a gas station.
But I used to bring a fuzzy little caterpillar to the ring in a Mason jar as my mascot. I even had a little cigarette for her too. That was about as sexy as it got.
Between you and me, I was a terrible athlete but a solid wrestler. I’d do it all: moon the crowd, take a dropkick, get slammed through a table.
I took more chairs to the head than a bouncer in a biker bar. I’d always load up on smokes before I got hit, so it would look extra sweet when I got creamed.