Dylan hornswoggle Postl - Life Is Short and So Am I: My Life in and Out of the Wrestling Ring

Dylan Hornswoggle Postl
with Ross Owen Williams and Ian Douglass

By Kofi Kingston

Let me preface this by saying that Dylan has agreed not to read this foreword until his book publishes. I dont know why anyone would actually request that I do this to them. Dylan... you fool.

Now clearly, many of you reading this are wrestling fans. That means that you know the author of this book as Hornswoggle a man of seemingly endless gimmicks. What you may not know is that this is an art-imitating-life situation, because in real life, actual Dylan Postl has endless aliases. Allow me to elaborate by highlighting three of many.

Alias 1: Doo-Doo Dylan

This title was initially earned when Dylan and I were on a drive from New Orleans to Baton Rouge. Twelve minutes into the ride, he started to flip out, demanding that I pull over and find a bathroom because his stomach was tore up.

When he finally returned to the car, he had a glazed-over look in his eyes. When I asked if everything was okay, he just stared forward in silence for what seemed like forever. Finally, voice quivering, he said that the bathroom resembled a murder scene, but instead of blood... it was poop.

On the floors.

On the walls.

On the ceiling.

Everywhere.

I could see from the tears welling up in his eyes that he was neither lying nor exaggerating. Looking closer, I noticed that he was half smiling. Not because he was joking, but because he was kind of proud! A true savage. But he did at least manage to avoid getting any poop on his clothes before getting into the car, so as far as I was concerned, we were cool. We drove on.

He then proceeded to inform me that he gifts himself the option of three self-poops a year. I take him at his word because... I mean, I dont want to be responsible for keeping the tally. The honor system will just have to do.

Alias 2: Big Nick from New Joisey (Joisey said with the accent of a squeaky-voiced 1930s gangster from Boardwalk Empire)

I wont go into too much detail about this one because it will be talked about later in this book, but I will say that this could be the single worst, half-hearted, quarter-assed, and consequently comical attempt at an accent in human history. The Big Nick moniker is all that remains of the greatest character to never happen.

Alias 3: The Soda Free-Loada

Curt Hawkins, Swoggle, and I traveled together often (known amongst ourselves as Team Two and a Half Men). One day, we inevitably decided to stop for food, but Swoggle had just eaten and didnt want anything. Hawkins and I proceeded to order while Swoggle repeatedly insisted he wasnt hungry and didnt want to order a diddle-damn thing (direct quote). But he finally broke down and ordered a cola.

When the bill came, the waitress gave Swoggle a check for somewhere around $1.37. His eyes got wide as anger and pure, utter disgust built steadily upon his face. His eyebrows furrowed and his bottom lip started to fold downward toward the floor. Steam actually started to rise from his scalp. (The waitress was completely oblivious to all of this, by the way.)

Dylan then started to shake his head, left to right, slowly at first, but quickly building to a closed-eyed, rapid, and aggressive full-body Eric Cartmanesque shudder, culminating in a high-pitched shriek to the gods, causing the entire restaurant to stare with legitimate concern. The tantrum finished with him violently shoving the tab across the table to me and Hawkins before he stormed out and back to the car.

Later, we came to find out that in his hometown of Applebee, Wisconsin, it is known as FACT (and in some areas, as law) that he is NEVER to EVER actually PAY for soda, under ANY circumstances. Even though we were nowhere near his hometown, Dylan couldnt believe this rule was not intergalactic common knowledge.

Its important to note that in his everyday persona, Dylan is not at all an entitled person. Actually, quite the opposite, which is what makes the tale of the Soda Free-Loada that much funnier... its also important to note that I may or may not have enhanced some or all of the details for the sake of a more humorous scenario. Either way, this is how we choose to remember this story.

There are so many more stories like these that I just do not have the time for in this foreword, but Dylan and I traveled together for years, and tales like these were commonplace. As time went on, each weekend, they became fully expected.

I am seven and eight years older than my siblings. I always think about how jealous I am of the bond my little brother and sister had because, being a year apart, they did everything together. They grew up together. They went to school together. They hung out and partied together. I never had that special kind of bonding experience with a sibling... until I met Dylan.

My friendship with Dylan filled that void. I consider him wholeheartedly as my brother. The Krillin to my Goku, he is one of the only people that I can actually tolerate sharing a hotel room with on the road. He was (and still is!) my Royal Rumble moment consultant. Hes one of the few people I looked to for advice and experience as I was preparing for fatherhood.

Most importantly, and this is easily my absolute favorite of Dylans qualities, hes always been completely honest. This book certainly reflects that to the fullest, as it is an unapologetically honest account of his life story. Interestingly enough, for all the years that we traveled together and got to know each other, I dont think we ever discussed the intimate details of his journey. I thoroughly enjoyed reading about them. His story is compelling, emotional, and very entertaining. I know you all will love and appreciate it as much as I did.

Kofi Sarkodie-Mensah, AKA Kofi Kingston

by Curt Hawkins

As Im sitting down to write this, I cant help but laugh to myself.

Dylan Postl and I have next to nothing in common. Hes a vertically challenged fellow from small-town Wisconsin and Im a 61 fast-talking New Yorker. We grew up in completely different worlds. Our friendship makes absolutely no sense on paper. But our common bond is what brought us together; we both have an almost disturbing level of love for professional wrestling.

Professional wrestling is a form of entertainment unlike any other on this planet, something that I saw for the first time as a very small child and became completely fascinated by. And Dylan did too. (I cant believe they had cable in Oshkosh in the nineties.) We became friends almost immediately. Together we got to do what we love for a living and travel the world. Riding up and down the roads of America, telling stories, making memories, and always completely busting each others balls. Theres an old saying in pro wrestling that you do most of your integral learning in bars & the cars. Ive found this to be true, but through my experiences its also where the most invaluable friendships are forged as well.

Dylan and I have always been very honest with each other. I know hes always going to tell me what he thinks whether its something I want to hear or not. That aspect of our relationship is something that Ill always cherish. Im so proud of Dylan. This guy has never had it easy, but he never made excuses for himself, either. He just continued to defy the odds. Dylan (although it pains me to say it) is an incredible performer inside of a professional wrestling ring. But, thats not the best version of Dylan. The best version of Dylan can be seen when hes home with his son Landon, being a father. Dylan is an absolute mega dad. Hes done all he can to build the best life for his son and thats an inspiration.