You push open the door to the locker room & are hit with a wonderful aroma that can be best described as cheese, wrapped inside of a sock, inside of a hippopotamus' mouth. It immediately brings you back to middle school when you used to have to change for gym class before Coach Abernathy would force you to run laps until you felt like vomiting up your bologna sandwich from lunch. \n\nIf only Coach could see you now--certainly you'd shake his hand & give him a hug & thank him for making you a stronger, better athlete. \n\nEither that or you'd hit your signature maneuver, 'The Psychobomb Death Drop' on him & leave him laying next to the bleachers.\n\nThe locker room is filled with plenty of wrestlers, squeezing their legs into Spandex, or applying copious amounts of face-paint. There's MondoKid Rex Wraith applying spray tan in the mirror! There's Bear Bearman fluffing out his chest hair! It's all so overwhelming!\n\nA skinny kid with long brown hair comes up to you & shakes your hand. He reminds you of your younger brother, except skinnier & with long brown hair. So, he pretty much looks nothing like your younger brother.\n\n"Hey! You must be the new talent everyone's talking about. Nice to meet you, I'm Skip Skratch, but everyone calls me Skulldigger. You might not recognize me without my mask." He points to his locker where a luchadore-style mask is hanging--it is black, with two outlines of a skull where the eyeholes go. \n\nYou recognize Skulldigger from the television; often he is being powerslammed by the likes of Rex Wraith, submitting to Bear Bearman's Bearhug. He is what the industry calls a "jobber," or, someone who is constantly losing.\n\n"Seeing that you're new, I figured you might need someone to show you the ropes. Get it? Show you the ropes? Because there are ropes in a wrestling ring, because without them we would crash to the ground--not that we don't already do that, but you know what I mean?"\n\nYou quickly realize that Skulldigger tells jokes about as well as he wrestles.\n\nHowever, he seems genuine--plus, Skulldigger & The Masked Mortician sounds like a pretty good team. You'd buy that t-shirt, you think.\n\n[[Team up with Skulldigger]]\n[[Tell him you're more of a "singles" wrestler]]

"Sweet!" Skulldigger says. He attempts to give you a high-five, but misses entirely. In his awkwardness, he accidentally slaps the back of a monster of a man: his fat ripples for a second, as if someone has thrown a stone into a pond. \n\n"Watch yourself, little man," the hulk of a being says. You'd recognize that voice anywhere: it's Blobbo, one half of the World Tag Team Champions. \n\n"You tell him B!" booms another voice from across the lockerroom. This, of course, is the voice of Fatback, the other, slightly slimmer half of the World Tag Team Champions. \n\n"I am so sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Blobbo, sir!" says Skulldigger. "It's just that you're so fat. I mean, big. I mean, not big, but like, husky, but not like a dog husky, like fat, I mean big."\n\nYou shoot Skulldigger a look--if he keeps this up, Blobbo will Gutbomb him into oblivion & you're gonna be the one to dig his skull out of the fat rolls cascading down Blobbo's torso. You, of course, keep your mouth shut.\n\n"You have such a way with words, Skully," Blobbo says. "Too bad your wrestling skills can't back you up." At this point, Blobbo smushes Skulldigger into the wall.\n\n[[Try to pry Blobbo off of Skulldigger]]\n[[Pretend to lace up your boots & ignore what is happening]]

You reach into your duffel bag & present your small shaker of tarragon spices to Chip Chopley as a peace offering.\n\nHe grabs the shaker, unscrews the cap, sniffs it.\n\n"What is this trash you are insulting me with? Is this Russian tarragon? How dare you give me anything less than French tarragon! Everyone knows that the flavor of Russian tarragon diminishes with age & is severely less aromatic than its French cousin!"\n\nChopley looks you up & down. "Who is this, anyhow? I wouldn't even let you wash dishes in my restaurant!"\n\nSkulldigger taps Chopley on the shoulder. "Uh, Mr. Chopley, sir--he's new. He didn't know any better."\n\n"Quiet, Skulldigger!" Chopley says. "Of course he didn't know any better. He probably couldn't tell the difference between a julienne cut & a batonnet cut!"\n\n(You don't.)\n\nChopley adjusts his chef's apron. "Well, a match with you would be a perfect appetizer before I move onward & upward to main events & main courses!" He pokes you in the chest with a slotted spoon. "See you in the ring, bus boy!"\n\nSkulldigger puts one arm around you. "What a jerk, huh?" he says. "I'm sorry he treated you like that--ever since he's become champion he has thought he's better than anyone else. I think it's time we teach him a lesson. What do you say?"\n\n[[Have Skulldigger accompany you to the ring]]\n[[Go it alone]]

You let Skulldigger down easy; you let him know that it's not him, it's you--that you think that things are moving too fast & instead of being tag team partners, perhaps you should just be friends.\n\nHe understands, of course, but you can see him shedding a tear or two as you walk away. He goes to wipe the tear away from his face but accidentally pokes himself in the eye.\n\nYou begin to lace up your boots when you hear a familiar voice:\n\n"Did you burn my lamb again? Honestly, you call this lamb tartare? It is cooked all the way through! Unbelievable. I knew I should've done it myself."\n\nYou instantly recognize this voice as that of Chip Chopley, trained chef & current Wrestlefed Heavyweight Champion. He bursts through the doors of the locker room in a huff.\n\n"Perhaps I can save this dish somehow--let me see if I have any tarragon in my locker."\n\nYou, of course, never go anywhere without one of the four "fines herbes" of French cooking--you never know when you might need to whip up a simple Bearnaise sauce.\n\n[[Offer tarragon to Chopley]]\n[[Hey! You might need it to season your post-match steak!]]

As your brand new tag team partner is being smushed, you start to lace up your brand new boots. How beautiful they are: they shine majestically in the flourescent lights! You start to reminisce about how long it took you to get here: how you used to wrestle in plastic bags because you didn't have enough money to buy shoes. Your first pair of boots were purchased at a thrift shop down the street from your grandmother's house: they had belonged to someone much larger than you--they were pink and they sparkled like pixie dust, almost like whatever you imagine the inside of a unicorn would look like. Yes, those were the days. You can't wait to step out into the squared circle, cameras on, flashes popping--to shake the hands of every fan, to kiss the cheeks of every baby. \n\nAs you are contemplating & being wistful about podiatry, you fail to realize that Fatback, recognizing that you & Skulldigger are now best buds, is running at you at full speed. If you were to notice this, you would complement his foot speed and agility for a man of his size, & suggest that perhaps he missed his calling as a football player: perhaps a nose tackle. \n\nUnfortunately for you, Fatback decided that football was too violent for him, & so he turned to professional wrestling as an alternative. If only he was less of a kind, compassionate soul, he wouldn't be hurling himself at you at break-neck speed, crashing into you, sending you flying through the brick walls of the locker room.\n\nYou escape with only a few broken bones, but by the time they heal, Mr. McKennedy has found a suitable replacement for The Masked Mortician gimmick. He goes on to win sixteen titles & be perceived as the greatest wrestler of all time. You, however, return home & become a mid-level shoe salesman.\n\nEND

Skulldigger excitedly claps you on the back--perhaps a little too hard. \n\n"Yes! Finally! The Masked Men together at once!" he exclaims. He then trips over a garbage can.\n\nThe two of you make your way out to the ring where Chip Chopley is attempting to conduct a cooking demonstrations for his legions of fans. They are outwardly booing him, as they came to see a wrestling match, not learn about the proper technique to make eggs fluffier.\n\nYou cautiously enter the ring, as Skulldigger provides words of encouragement, such as "You can do it!" & "Don't get hit!" & "Try to hit him & then pin him & become the champion!" You know, really inspirational & helpful stuff.\n\nThe match begins as one would expect a match to go when dealing with a seasoned champion & a fresh-faced newbie--to put it simply, the eggs aren't the only thing Chopley is good at whipping. You manage to get one or two strikes in, but for the majority of the match you find yourself on the receiving end of every atomic drop, knee breaker, back breaker, flying elbow, Samoan drop, & full body splash in the book. It is obvious that Chopley is trying to make an example out of you.\n\nWhen he is done toying with you, he points at the crowd & yells "And voila! Dinner is served!" & lifts you up to deliver his devastating Digestif Driver. \n\nOut of the corner of your eye you see Skulldigger jump up on the ring apron. He reaches into his pocket & throws some strange looking green flakes into the face of Chopley. The tarragon! \n\nBlinded & disgusted by the fact that, again, this is Russian tarragon & not French, Chopley is distracted. With your last burst of energy, you climb to the top rope & take one bold leap into the air, landing directly on top of Chopley. \n\nThe referee counts: one, two, three & the bell rings! You have defeated the Wrestlefed Heavyweight Champion! \n\nThe referee hands you the championship belt & you hold it above your head as Chopley weeps in the corner, in pure disbelief that he could lose in such a manner to a well-meaning scrub like you. Skulldigger joins you in the ring & you raise his hand in victory as the crowd cheers. \n\nAfter signing autographs & taking photos with your newly found fanbase, you & Skulldigger go out for a celebratory steak dinner. It is cooked perfectly.\n\nThe End

You thank Skulldigger for sticking up for you back there, but you feel as if it's better off you face Chopley alone--you have enough on your plate (get it?) without having to worry about Skulldigger getting involved.\n\nYou begin your walk to the ring, nervous as a, well, nervous as a wrestler about to wrestler his first ever match against the current Heavyweight Champion. You begin to wonder if this is some sort of a trial by fire--if you had just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn't be in this mess. You could've started off small, wrestled a few guys you knew you could beat, gained some momentum, before eventually working your way up to such a gigantic match. Instead, you are diving head first into a match with Chip Chopley, master of the Digestif Driver, the most brutal move in all of Wrestlefed.\n\nOut comes Chopley to a smattering of boos. He begins to speak to the crowd.\n\n"Here, we have the Masked Maurader, someone who believes that he is worth a five-star rating. But au contraire, my friends! He is pure gruel! I wouldn't serve his cuisine to my dog! However, you people wouldn't know fine dining if it smacked you in the tastebuds!"\n\nThe crowd boos louder as Chopley wipes his hands on his apron. You can vaguely hear the crowd chanting your name:\n\nMasked Maur-rader *clap clap clapclapclap*\nMasked Maur-rader *clap clap clapclapclap*\n\nYou feel your heart swell; perhaps this is something that you can somehow pull off, despite the fact that you are easily outmatched. They'll talk about this for decades--you'll make every highlight reel--you'll make all of the children believe in a one-in-a-million chance. You land in some offense--dodging Chopley's every move & answering with your own. You clothesline him one time, two times, three times & he falls to the mat!\n\nThis is your chance!\n\nMasked Maur-rader *clap clap clapclapclap*\nMasked Maur-rader *clap clap clapclapclap*\n\nYou climb to the top ropes in hopes of hitting your signature Death Drop--the crowd swells with you. Victory is within sight.\n\nJust before you are about to launch yourself from the top rope into the history books, you feel a slight push & find yourself tumbling to the mat.\n\nThis is the only leeway a great champion like Chip Chopley needs, as before you know it, you are hoisted up into the air & driven to the mat with the force of an immersion blender.\n\nThe last thing you see as the ref counts one, two, three, is Skulldigger standing near the turnbuckle you climbed, shaking his head at you. Next time, perhaps you'll be nicer to someone who's just trying to help a newbie out.\n\nTHE END\n\n

Against your better judgment, you decide to go against Cecil & let him know that you think your face is way too pretty to be hidden behind a mask. \n\nCecil laughs--it catches you off guard; it sounds like he has been gargling lava for the past thirty-five years before going to sleep. \n\n"We have a real comedian here, don't we?" he says, despite the fact that you don't remember telling any kind of joke. "I appreciate your honesty: why don't you head on down to wardrobe & see what Glenda can stitch up for you?"\n\nCecil slaps you on the shoulder--you wince a little bit, but smile through it, as you don't want to show weakness, especially on your first day on the job. \n\nHe putters away on his Segway scooter, barking orders at the production crew on his way down the concourse. You have stood up to the boss once already--you don't dare follow him.\n\n[[Head to wardrobe.]]

You choose to keep your hidden stash of culinary spices hidden in your duffel bag, which is probably a smart move, as Chopley has begun tearing the locker room apart, screaming something about needing to find some fennel in order to perk up this lamb dish. \n\nWhich is a shame, because in an alternate universe, the two of you could've teamed up & become the greatest tag team of all time--the chef & the executioner, both experts in precision, &, you know, chopping. You could've learned the ins & outs of fine gourmet dining! You could've eaten at all of the finest restaurants! You could of been a champion not only in the ring, but also in the kitchen!\n\nInstead, your selfishness gets you absolutely nowhere--you have a match against Ace Awesome, & lose unceremoniously to his Ace of Spades Superplex. You go back home, over-cook your celebratory steak, & chew it, alone, in silence.\n\nTHE END

You head on down to the wardrobe department & meet up with Glenda, a very sweet seamstress who wanted to be a high-fashion designer, but instead has found herself designing ridiculous costumes for extremely sweaty people who enjoy picking each other up & throwing them around.\n\n"What can I do for you, honey?" she asks, as she glues a sequin onto a pair of tights.\n\nYou start to think about what you'd love to wear to the ring: perhaps you could be an all-American superhero, complete with red, white, & blue trunks & a totally sweet cape. Or maybe you could make a cool design in face paint--warrior style--& all the kids would want to be you for Christmas. The possibilities seem (or is it seam?) endless. \n\nYou start to ramble about certain possibilities of your entire wrestling future, but Glenda puts a finger up & interrupts you.\n\n"Look, sweetie. I don't have any fabric left. But you can wear this." She holds up a furry black & white one piece leotard & a pair of futuristic sunglasses. \n\nNot exactly what you had in mind for your long awaited debut, but you are a jovial person, willing to take risks. The costume fits perfectly.\n\nYou wrestle 400 matches in your career & lose them all. However, the popularity of Skunkman 3000 catapults you to superstardom--every child on your block is wearing a Skunkman 3000 costume for Halloween, every person on the street shouts out "Hey Skunkman! Do the Stink Bomb!" in hopes of you doing your world famous pre-match dance.\n\nYour popularity is so great that after your retirement, you opt to pursue a career in politics--first at the city level, & then working your way up to becoming President of the United States.\n\nAs you stare at the Capitol Building on the eve of your re-election, you look up at the stars & wonder if Glenda is out there, watching the results come in with a tear in her eye. You wonder if she saw something in you that you didn't even think was possible. That you have always been President Skunkman 3000.\n\nThe End

You open up your duffel bag & begin to lace up your wrestling boots. You go through your stretching routine that you learned by taking a yoga class at your grandmother's fitness center; you were always the best stretcher in the class, with the exception of that Wally character who always wore a cool sweatband. Stupid Wally. Wait until he sees you on TV--he'll totally flip. Now who's the most flexible?\n\nSkulldigger, still woozy from his run-in with the champs, is clipping his toenails in preparation for what is inevitably the match of his career.\n\nYou begin the long walk to the backstage curtain. You can hear the crowd cheering--young children holding up foam fingers, grown men crafting cleverly made signs making obscure references. You begin to sweat a little bit & immediately begin to regret choosing a gimmick that requires you to wear a mask at all times: your cheeks feel sticky & warm.\n\nYou start the long walk to the ring, reaching out your hands to the crowd, however no one wants to slap your hand--understandable, of course. You are, after all, making your debut & these folks don't know you from any jobber from the street.\n\nYou climb into the ring & pose menacingly on the top turnbuckle while the crowd pays little attention to you & Skulldigger; after all, they have paid to see Blobbo & Fatback, the tag team champions.\n\nA loud pigsqueal comes over the loudspeakers & the crowd erupts: lumbering out from the back are your opponents, gold glistening from the championship belts they have resting on their shoulders--the leather of the belt unable to fit around the girth of their stomachs. \n\nThey slide their mass through the ropes & into the ring. Blobbo is pointing directly at Skulldigger, as if challenging him to start the match. \n\n[[These guys mean business--let Skulldigger start the match.]]\n[[He'll get crushed! You start.]]\n\n

Duffel bag in hand, you arrive at the Wrestlefed Performance Center with a smile on your face and a dream in your heart. You have worked tirelessly to get to this point: sacrificed weekends & friendships, traveled all over the globe, stayed in terrible motel rooms with filthy sheets, but here you are: on the verge of being a real-life Wrestlefest Superstar, complete with your own action figure! You walk into the Performance Center and are immediately greeted by Cecil McKennedy, a hulking man in a sharp pin-striped suit and a pink tie that reminds you of Pepto-Bismol. \n\n"Hello there!" he says. "We've heard a lot about you."\n\nYou nod and shake his hand. He almost turns your knuckles to dust with his grip.\n\n"You have a lot of skill, kid. You're a natural in the ring." He takes a bite of a protein bar. "However, you're lacking that Superstar pizazz that our fans have come to expect from Wrestlefed. We need to find you a gimmick that will get you over with the fans. We're thinking about calling you the Masked Maurader. What do you think?\n\n[[You tell Cecil it sounds great.]]\n[[You think maybe you should go in a different direction.]]\n\n

When the going gets tough, you get going, eh? Perfectly okay! Perhaps you weren't cut out for Wrestlefed. Fortunately, the great folks at CHOOSATRON have plenty of other stories you can weave your way through that don't involve totally sweet dropkicks & sparkly tights.\n\nChoose the Choosatron Today! \n\nEND

The bell rings. \n\nSkulldigger gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up. He is about to give you a heartfelt pat on the back, but that would tag him into the match, which is something he is trying to avoid, so he simply just grins at you.\n\nAcross the ring is Blobbo, Wrestlefed's reigning, defending tag team champion. Hailing from Story County, Iowa, he has used his glandular problem as well as his ability to eat thirty-five tacos without blinking an eye to pack on a considerable amount of fat & muscle; fat & muscle that you do not have, as you have spent the majority of your life eating your vegetables & drinking your milk, yet your genetic disposition does not lend itself to the goliath-type.\n\nAs you size up your sizeable opponent, you reminisce about how far it has taken you to get here: here you are, in your first match in Wrestlefed. You remember watching your heroes on television as a child & wishing that one day you could be out there, amongst the cheering crowds, wrestling for the chance to be a champion. You know that, in time, you have the capability to be one of the most beloved wrestling superstars of all-time, as long as you put your heart into it.\n\nYou see a young child sitting in the front row. He reminds you of yourself at that age: wide-eyed, carrying a giant foam finger on his chubby left hand. You lock eyes for a moment, & it is like you are taken back in time--to attending wrestling matches with your grandfather, with how one time Moxy Mittens threw you his signature boa as he headed into the ring. \n\nYou begin to take off your mask; not as an act of insubordination, but as an act of solidarity with the child. You begin to toss it to him: to give him a souvenir he will never forget. However, your aim is poor: you, after all, are a wrestler, not a baseball player (there is probably another Choosatron for that!) & you inadvertently hit Blobbo in the face, temporarily blinding him.\n\nRealizing your move of genius, Skulldigger quickly slaps you on the back, slides through the ring ropes, & delivers a picture perfect drop kick to Blobbo's newly masqueraded head.\n\nHe covers the stunned Blobbo & the referee counts: 1, 2, 3. \n\nYour ineptness in accomplishing an act of generosity backfired, however, you somehow are now one-half of the tag-team champions. Blobbo & Fatback plead to the referee that what you did was highly illegal, & you two should be disqualified, but the referee, as referees tend to do, was distracted by the mother of the boy in the front row, who looks exactly like his ex-girlfriend. \n\nYou grab your shimmering & newly acquired title belt & hold it to the sky. You only have a few seconds before Blobbo & Fatback come chasing after you, infuriated at your creativity. However, in that time, you manage to look the kid in the front row in the eye, & give him a wink. \n\nYour wrestling career is highly celebrated, but that kid in the front row goes on to be Magnifico Morales, the greatest high-flyer of all-time--at the beginning of every match, he takes his mask off & throws it into the crowd.\n\nTHE END

You use your unparalleled quickness to jump on top of Blobbo as he tries to liquify your brand new tag team partner. \n\nFatback, Blobbo's partner, notices the fracas & begins to charge at you. Fearing that you are about to become a you-sandwich, you, again, use your unparalleled quickness to slide underneath Fatback's gargantuan legs, taking a moment to admire how they kind of look like the hams your grandmother would serve for holiday meals & special occasions.\n\nAs you are squaring yourself to pop Fatback in his fat back with one of your super-kicks, Mr. McKennedy comes barging into the lockerroom.\n\n"Friends! What is the ruckus here?" he says.\n\nAt this moment, Blobbo manages to dislodge himself from your pal Skulldigger. Skulldigger looks like he has seen the ghost of a thousand ghosts. \n\n"I do not pay you to fight in the locker room!" Mr. McKennedy says. "I pay you to fight in the ring. If you all have a problem with each other, we might as well put it on television where we can make some ad-revenue! Therefore, this evening, we will have Blobbo & Fatback put their titles on the line against The Masked Mortician & Skimdunker!"\n\n"Uh, Mr. McKennedy, it's actually Skulldigger," retorts Skimdunker, obviously still woozy from having his face being buried in the chest of a 600 lb man. Fortunately, Mr. McKennedy could not understand a word that Skyblanker said, as Scumbonker found it impossible form complete sentences after being forehead deep in another man's bosom.\n\nBlobbo points a sausage-like finger in your direction. "We'll see you & your friend in the ring, rookie." he says, as he & Fatback walk out of the lockerroom. \n\n[[Begin putting your gear on]]\n[[Think that maybe this whole wrestling thing isn't quite for you]]

Wrestlefest

Brian Oliu

"Perfect!" Mr. McKennedy says. "I wasn't a particularly huge fan of your face anyhow."\n\nYou smile, but think twice about it, wondering if smiling makes you look even worse. While your dental hygeine is normally top notch, you forgot to floss this week. Instead you nod your head & keep your teeth behind your lips. \n\n"Why don't you head on down to wardrobe & see what Glenda has ready for you," Mr. McKennedy says. "Can't be wasting time, you know. You really do have a horrific face--the quicker we get you in that mask, the better."\n\nYou thank Mr. McKennedy for the advice & he peels away on his Segway. \n\n[[Head to the locker room]]\n[[Head to wardrobe.]]\n\n

The bell rings. \n\nYou happily stand on the apron as Skulldigger hops around the ring, trying to make sure that his legs still work--after all, he's going to need them if he's going to stay one step ahead of the pure strength and brutality of Blob...\n\nWell, nevermind. Blobbo has picked up Skulldigger, slammed him to the mat, and is proceeding to climb the turnbuckles. \n\nThe crowd oohs & ahhhs as this occurs, until a chant starts up: "Squash! Squash! Squash!"\n\nThis, of course, baffles you: you are obviously a huge fan of both the racquet-based game, as well as the delicious domesticated species of the genus Cucurbita--perhaps the crowd has done their research on you & is familiar with your love of indoor court sports & zucchini casserole. How thoughtful of them! Perhaps you have a future in this business afterall.\n\nYou look up to see the referee striking his hand against the mat: one, two, three. Your dear friend & compatriot, Skulldigger, has been sat upon--bonzai dropped into oblivion. \n\nAs the crowd starts chanting "You Got Squashed," you realize that yes, you got squashed: your dreams as flat as pancakes being shoveled into Fatback's mouth after the show. \n\nDejected, you sulk backstage where you are ridiculed for having the shortest match in Wrestlefed History. Dejected & embarrassed, you spend the rest of your days afraid of gourds & playing racquetball. \n\nEnd.