Harrold nods in acknowledgment. The wheels work beneath his eyes. He sends you out to further solidify your character in the cold northern night air. You stare up into the infinite expanses of the universe, knowing that you are only seeing a tiny section of the outer arm of one single galaxy. It's a bit much for the average wrestling brain to fathom, but you are so very far away from being an average wrestler. You meditate on the limitless potential hiding within the frightening vacuum in preparation for whatever disturbing creation Harrold is brewing up to face you. You know the NOW is mad professional world class back yard shit. Anything could happen. The stress and strain of possibility wears on you as you fade into a deep coma of contemplative preparation. When you are awakened by Harrold, the rush of adrenaline floods your brain immediately. No need for caffeine: you race to the ring, the sleep crust in your eyes only adds potential to the misery you intend to impart upon the audience. “All of ye! All of ye! Get down from yer high horse an' listen here!” You scream out from the center of the ring. “The aliens are coming... right in your asses! All your asses are open to tha majesty of this here universe!” The boos begin to shudder down. You've barely said anything, and already you have them in your malicious hand! “Tha government knows and they used your paycheck ta hide it from you YA FUCKEN FOOLS!” You are spitting, and screaming, and ranting, and raving, and the scene is just as you planned and imagined it. Empty cans and popcorn rain down upon you. A grin seeps up from the depths of your soul, and is warped by your outward character into a sinister smile of mockery. The hatred swells, and Harrold sees the perfect opportunity to introduce your foil. A hideous buzzing sound erupts from the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen.... weighing in at 97 pounds.....” Harrold proclaims in his best professional wrestling announcer imitation, “the newest and most exciting hero of the Northern Ontario Wrestling league... flying towards the ring at light speed, I bring to you.... THE R. C. M. BEEEEEEEEE!!!!” You can hardly believe your eyes as a real life bee-man buzzes down the aisle. Decked out in a federal red blazer and ridiculous Mountie hat, you've been had. How can you possibly defend yourself against this hideous monster of a man? Bobby-Jayne isn't the weird and disturbing shadow on the psyche of the average man anymore, he's down right boring compared to this monstrosity. Stinger dragging along the dirty ground. The crowd is going completely ape-shit. You spot women whipping their shirts up to reveal bare breasts, begging to be frisked in violation of their charter rights. “Stage a Seperatist bombing in my bosom mountie!” one bimbo screams. Oh man... you are toast.
The creature climbs into the ring...... as it crawls up onto four of its limbs, it stretches out its wings, tossing away the royal red, and standing like a glorious god of the ring.... oh man...... WHAT NOW!?
