"Okay Harrold! Pass me that pen! I'd be thrilled to hop on board with you fine folks!" Grinning, he hands you a decorative pen and a pre-drafted contract which he's kept sealed in a black velvet bag inside a locked iron chest. The contract is fastened to a clipboard which he hands to you. Shit! How will you perform the double cross while holding the contract steady? Think fast genius!
"You know...." you begin tentatively, "this is a huge step in my life, and really, this is a huge step for the entire league! I have so much massive respect for you sir, do you think maybe you could hold the clipboard for me while I sign? It would just feel... more intimate you know?"
"Certainly son, gaze deep into my eyes while you sign, no need to read the fine print I'm sure," he responds while grasping the clipboard firm in both hands and gazing deeply and intensely into your own eyes.
This is it! This is the big one! You've finally made it! Your left hand darts back, from the front appearing as though you are engaged in some Victorian era gentlemanly bow as you lean forward into the contract. Fore and middle finger lock tight and fast behind you in your obscured and occult pose. As your pen begins to dance across the page in its well practiced flight of glory you feel a sudden pressure on your fingers, and then a swift and sharp crack as they are violently wrenched backwards and out of their sockets.
"Bobby-Jayne, I'd like you to meet Sal the Solicitor." Harrold says grimly.
As you turn you see a massive man with bulging biceps popping out of a sleeveless business suit. He is shaking his head sadly at you. You crumple in pain to the ground.
"This is truly a disappointment. Did you think I'd have you sign a contract without some hard-core legal representation present? It's our job to commit the Kayfabe upon the rubes child, not each other. Wrestling is a sacred pact amongst family. No-one else could possibly understand our world, and our ways. Sadly we will never be able to trust you and your slimy school-yard ethics. Please, get off my property and never return." Sal walks over to Harrold and Clarice as they form a group hug, sobbing at your attempted fraud.
"And I thought you were one of us!" Clarice cries, "I let you man-handle my lady hole!"
You dejectedly gather your bones off the floor and slink out of the home and back into your mouldy basement dungeon. Your left cheating fingers are horribly mangled; you'll never be able to cross them again. This leaves you a horribly inconsolable mess, as you'll never again gain the confidence to place your signature to another contract without the assurance of your left-handed escape clause. You never sign the mortgage on a house, you never sign the contract for a sweet job, and you never place your signature onto a marriage license. You die alone and miserable, unable to even self-stimulate yourself to fruition as you don't have enough muscle power to rub one off without switching arms. That'll show you not to mess with a contractual loop-hole again!
FACE PALM!!!!
