"Okay Harrrrrrruld, lead me to my firssssst match." You hiss insectuously.
"Sure... sure thing buddy. Just, first let me attach this little bandito moustache onto your upper mandible there. Just like this." He steps backwards, fingers pressed to lips, "Perfect! Just perfect kid! You're killing it!"
"Unnnndellllaaayyy," you sputter in a shaky attempt at Mehican bravado. "I jusst hazzzz one question, really," pausing, you raise your compound eyes up to meet Harrold's concerned gaze, "if I'm going to beeeeee some disgusssssting alien monsssster, can I still probe people?"
"Sure baby! Look, check out that stinger we gotcha rigged up with! It's so horrifically modified, I don't even think we'll have to censor it out from the direct to home video compilations of your matches!"
You look down to notice a barbed monstrosity hanging from your mid-section. "Oh," you think to yourself, "that's going to make having 1.4 children rather difficult."
The next week is spent getting acquainted with your frightening new body. The wings appear to be mostly for show, they do not provide any lift, although they do make for some impressive displays when you climb to the top rope. Managing your extra limbs proves a challenge, but you are getting there. You can kind of use the middle ones to at least wave at the audience. What a thrill this will be for them! Your compound eyes allow you to scan a wider swath of the arena too. Oh the glory!
"How you doin' Ess ess?" Harrold asks in his adorable new short form for Stinging Sombrero.
"Not baaaad Harrruuuuulllld. Who am I beeee fighting tamorrrooooow?"
" SOACPWHNHTHD, it's going to be great!"
"What is a ssssssssssoooooooaaaaaaaaacpwhnhthud?"
"Ah, don't worry about it, he said he was thinking about getting into Mexican bashing, apparently it plays well to the southern demographic. Be sure to really rile them up kid!" Harrold pats you on the wings before heading out the training room door.
"What can this all mean?" you think to yourself, scratching your antennae. Tomorrow you shall find out, as you head to the ring. The SOACPWHNHTHD is a pompous looking fool with poofy hair. He combs it while making kissy faces to the audience. Already you feel the rage within you build. The audience however, showers love upon the Pretty Boy. Aren't vain fools supposed to be the heel? What the hell kind of backwards programming is this? You are the outsider, the poor maligned alien. This is it, you are going to flip this script and tear SOACPWHNHTHD a new cloaca!
Hopping into the ring, SOACPWHNHTHD kisses his biceps before lunging at you, hair bobbing in poetic motion towards you. You swipe a ridged limb towards him, they are slow and clumsy, but strong enough. He dodges with a veracious speed wildly out of proportion with the slow swipe you aimed at his head. He moves in from behind to secure an absurd head lock which leaves a whole set of limbs unattended, but his intention is to get a quick strategic whisper in your wasp ear.
"Hey! Didn't Harrold tell you? Don't you EVER touch my hair asshole!" spittle flies out and flecks your face.
The hair eh? You don't say!
