My last girlfriend, Tina, was, for sure, a Boston Crab, in terms of how she dealt with me on an emotional level. This hold, as anyone who’s ever been hit with one will tell you, is a real fucking back breaker (not to be confused with an actual “Backbreaker,” which, needless to say, is a whole different beast (see Debbie).

Looking at someone caught in a Boston Crab, it’s only natural to wonder, “What kind of sick shit had to go down to get that guy in a position where someone could do something as fucked up as that?”

Exactly.

You don’t see it coming, I’ll tell you (although it is true that, in most relationships, this move is often proceeded by the psychological equivalent of a standing leg take-down). One day, everything is fine, and the next day you’re fucking head’s pinned to the mat and you’re bent over backwards until you feel like you’re fucking spine’s going to snap in two (along with your heart!). That’s how it is with these Boston Crab types.

[If you’re reading this though, Tina, why won’t you return my calls? Is that too much to ask? Or, if you still refuse to talk with me, how about at least e-mailing me that Julie girl’s number? Seriously. I need some, bad.]

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