“No sir. I shall NOT!” you declare defiantly as you hang like a limp noodle in his capable arms.
“Come on kid, jimble jamble those legs! Let's give them a fight to remember,” he whispers in your ear.
“I SHALL NOT SIR!” as you slither down to the mat, and attempt to worm your way underneath his legs. As you scramble for your sacred satchel of mystical foreign apocrypha, SOACPWHNHTHD stamps a foot down upon your hand. Just as he stamped his foot down upon his promises to the Aboriginals of Canada. “YOU SHALL NOT GRASP!” he screams as the ref immediately counts you out, despite not having your back to the matt, or even any semblance of a pin. “This is just how Canadian law works for xenodarks like you!” You weep spicy tears.