“Pop a ding dong doodle SUCKAH!” You yell as you poppa-pow yet another hay-maker into his rapidly degrading bird's nest. His face wobbles like a bobble head against the mat, but his devious hand worms its way through your legs, and signals a whole host of fully suited Mounties from the wings. They descend upon you with the righteous wrath of the WHITE....SUPREMACIST..... CAPITALIST...... PATRIARCHY!!! They are always there.... they are always watching. An abomination like you could never rise through this system. At least not with pathetically anti-climactic wrestling moves like that. You gotta butter the crowd up son... you gotta butter that corn before it can pop....