As your strange, ethnic entrance music plays, you roar down the aisle into the ring. Kayfabe be damned. Professional wrestling etiquette out the window. You are going full force shoot on this muther! Storming in with a macho confidence un-befitting of your previously established character, you leap into the ring with arms raised. Confused boos rain down upon you, but you are unfazed. You snatch the microphone from the pompous phony referee and screech to the bleachers, "This is for all my black and brown brothers, the white towers of power are going down! Out and out revolution until we see peace!" which you punctuate with a punishing blow to the head of SOACPWHNHTHD. He seems dazed and uncertain as to whether this is a part of the script his assistant/handler failed to read to him; or whether something drastically unprecedented and horrible was unfurling before him. "Foreign lives matter!" you screech as you lay a hefty leg bomb upon his neck. Amidst your righteous bliss, awareness circles around the periphery of your consciousness, you have now beaten his precious hair with fist, and brushed its sacred glory with your vile, unclean leg. SOACPWHNHTHD has hired help. His father, be he real or Kayfabish, demanded it. You are up shit creek without a chop stick!