Supreme Wrestling Empire-Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Bitterness

[MadMatt]

DISCLAIMER: Potential racism, sexism, drug use references, political uncorrectness, homophobia, and people just being plain mean. You've been warned. My name is the Masked Avatar. I was a wrestler at one time. Not a great one, not even a good one, but I was better than many of the people who claim to be wrestlers. Unfortunately, my career was cut short by knee injuries. It wasn't through some super moonsault phoenix splash shooting star press splash move of utter flippiness either like so many of those punk kids use these days. I landed wrong after the legendary Big Smack Scott threw me sloppily on a Gorilla Press Slam. It blew both of my knees out, tearing several ligaments, and the doctor's told me to never wrestle again. Today I'm an accountant for a major corporation. I still wear a mask. I refuse to break kayfabe, even though I've long since left wrestling and enter the real world. My boss is someone who is your typical eccentric millionaire and agreed to employ me despite the mask, because I would work cheaper than anyone else. Fernando Francis Fernandez the third. You might have never heard of him but he's really, really, rich. Rumor has it that he has a toilet paper roll of hundred dollar bills in his bathroom. At least that's what they say. He can afford it, he's worth billions. He's also an insane middle aged man who goes on long rants that are based off of the smallest thing that ticked him off. Like right about now. "AVATAR!" shouted Fernandez as he stomped into the office, looking rather pissed. "That cheating son of a gun, cheated me out of a million dollars in our poker game. I hate that smug whippersnapper, someone needs to teach him a lesson." "Who?" I asked, as I tried to figure out who had enraged my boss today. "Eisen, Richard Eisen," spat Fernando as if the name was disgusting to him. "As in the wrestling promoter?" I asked in surprise. To be true, I wasn't a big fan of him either, he refused to pay for my double knee operations even though I was injured on his show. "Yes, that son of a bitch," responded Fernando roughly. "I mean that wrestling crap, anyone can do it. It's just a bunch of faggots in tight spandex pretend fighting." I decided not to inform Fernando that it was much more than that in wrestling. "In fact, I'm going to take Eisen to the cleaners, I'm going to punk his ass out, I'm going to humble him," said Fernando in a crazed voice. "I'm going to create my own wrestling company and run him out of business. I will make him pay for swindling me out of that million dollars, bucko." Right now as he compalined about losing a million dollars, he was lighting up a cigar with a one hundred dollar bill. He was quite the smoker. And the drinker too. He also was once religious, but he's given up that particular bad habit. "And you, Avatar, since you once did that gay fag ****, you will run it, you will be the..." said Fernando as he struggled to find the "Booker?" I offered. "Yes, that, you'll be the booker of the Supreme Wrestling Empire," declared Fernando with a manic look on his face. Can you smell it? Well, that smells like a future trademark infringement lawsuit. (Well this is my first serious voyage into the Cornellverse if you can believe that. Well, it's not going to be serious in content but you know what I mean. My other two diaries aren't dead, just in hiberation.)