“Whatever you do, don’t let him put you in the Mad Monk Hold. That’s his signature move and no-one’s ever gotten out of it.”
But about five minutes into the fight, sure enough, our boy’s all wrapped up like a human pretzel, with one arm going one way, one leg going another way, his spine all twisted and wound up like a spring and he can’t even tell which way his head’s on, and he realizes he’s in the Mad Monk Hold.
Then he sees a familiar bulge hanging down just in front of his face, and he’s pretty desperate, so he takes a deep breath and bites down as hard as he can.
Moments later there is a wild scream and the Mad Monk is flying out of the ring, and he lands in the fourth row of seats with a godawful crash, and before he manages to pick himself up and scramble back into the ring, he’s been counted out.
And our boy staggers back to his corner after the referee has held his arm up, and the manager says “What happened? How did you manage it? No-one’s ever gotten out of the Mad Monk Hold!”
And the wrestler says, “well, it’s amazing the strength you find when you bite your own ballsack.”