You skim through the Yellow Pages and decide that for your current requirements, the schmaltziest, gaudiest, most inappropriate lawyer ad is likely to be the one to go with. You find the perfect shit storm in an ad for Sal Cumberbund. His name is almost the same as your new moniker, the one you are fully embodying with life-long facially-haired commitment. The ad contains an image of a bulky and wild haired Sal, wearing a suit two sizes too small, and glasses ten sizes too big. He is pulling his suspenders out while pointing enthusiastic thumbs back at himself. He is the shit: obviously. His gap-toothed smile leaves little doubt about the unbelievable level of confidence this man has in his legal practice. You are sold! You telephone dial him up and are met with a surprisingly intense answering machine message. Apparently he really wants to draw up some documents for you, with a vehement enthusiasm rarely seen in the profession. You are liking what you are hearing! You decide to respond in kind in character, and scream your demands for air tight in the ring documentation you can strangle your opponents with. The first public airing of your character leaves you exhilarated and unable to sleep. You retreat to the bathroom and make angry wrestler faces at yourself until you collapse from facial exhaustion.

You are rudely awaken the next morning by a sudden shock to your head. Your mother, in pre-work dental garb, stands above you and drops the telephone on your face. “Apparently you require some legal representation. I hid my checkbook. Stop passing out in the washroom, you have a shit-hole downstairs for that crap.” She turns around and leaves for work. You flail around and try to orient your freshly waken consciousness to the concept of modern telephone use. It takes a few tries to get the plastic encased electronics into the appropriate placement to facilitate transmission of the air exiting your worthless word hole.
“Documents!” You howl. Sal seems excited. He urges you to make it down to the office as soon as possible. You stumble down the stairs and run at top speed in the general direction of downtown. Somehow you awkwardly tangle your gangly feet together and wind up slamming your head into the pavement. An indeterminate amount of time later you claw your way to consciousness and crawl the rest of the way to Sal’s office.