"It's time for me to dominate the Northern Ontario Wrestling league. I'm ready to take on all comers, but I need the most sound and disturbing legally binding documents imaginable. I truly hope you can help me with this." You respond, in some regard somehow.
"Oh... I see," says Sal mysteriously. He begins to anxiously wring his hands together. "And what moniker do you go by in this here Rasslin' league?"
"SALLY THE SOLICITER!" You belt out excitedly. Despite all the damage your electronic hand-held device has done to your brain, through your youthful haze of social retardation, you sense a slight irritation within the demeanour of your newly acquired solicitor.
"So.... you think you can just enter a ring, WITH MY GODDAMN NAME YOU SACK OF WORTHLESS SHIT!" He leaps across his desk with a surprising acumen of agility, and slams your face to the floor. His massive biceps wrap around and begin to crush your larynx. "Doris!" Sal shouts. "Doris come in here quick!" Sal is gently humping your backside. You desperately hope this is just a part of securing leverage upon your neck.
The kindly old secretary races into the office. "What is it Mr. Solicitor?" Doris implores.
"Doris! Is this move legal? Tell me quickly!"
"Sure Sal, it looks super legal."
"Okay, call the police then, NOW!"
Doris races out. You pass out, mercifully. When you awake, you find yourself encased within a prison cell. You soon find out that you've been incarcerated on the grounds of professional wrestling identity theft. Apparently a hefty and disturbing crime. Things aren't all bad though, you recognize your cell mate as that nice young gentleman from the pet store, he should make a fine and friendly companion! As you find a way to sit comfortably upon your aching anus, you quickly learn that 3 square meals a day, and a robust social life might just beat minimum wage in your mom's basement. Hurray!
THE END!
