Wreeko the Wrestler

He has a catchy nickname, and he drives a limousine shaped like a jet that has his logo printed on its side; therefore, you better run away from him. He’s earned so many titles in the sport of professional wrestling that you would find it difficult to tally them all up. The crowd flies out of control when he arrives in the arena. The women scream, and the men solemnly ogle his champion belt. Wreeko the Wrestler will battle any opponent. Do whatever you can to win your match against him, because, if you beat him, then you literally get to become him — you inherit his powers, including his legal identity. (That’s how Wreeko the Wrestler became Wreeko the Wrestler, in fact: he himself subjugated the previous owner of that name and those characteristics.) He possesses legendary talent. Of his many accomplishments, the one that I find most impressive is that he has fought the planet of Earth and brought it to submission. It doesn’t matter which style of attack you choose to use: once your match with him has been broadcast, your meat will be stamped with the label “To Cut and Can.” Why is this? Because he’s Wreeko the Wrestler, whom the scriptures predicted would found the Horsemen of the Apocalypse; which regime was indeed recently seen standing atop Space Mountain, locking the Necessary Angel in a figure-four grappling hold — they did the same to him as they did to the Christ, back in time: they broke both his legs, and then he tapped out on the floor.

PROMO AD: “Come here, you little punk. Yeah, you. What’s my name?” (You, the victim, cry out: “Big Wreeko the Wrestler!”) “Uh huh, that’s right: I’m Big Wreeko the Wrestler — look at my muscles: they’re enormous. Boom kapow, I smash right through granite. Now I pulverize the steel gates that block the way to the wrestling ring, and I step onstage and strike a pose that shows I’m ready to abuse you. I seize your body with my powerful hands that feel like vice clamps; then bash you down on the mat with a bodyslam move. Now I spring off the ropes and land directly on your head, fracturing your skull. Then you expire. I lift you up easily by your feet and swing you like a hammer down onto the pavement outside the ring. The stage direction reads ‘Bang! Splash! Guts, blood, and flesh sprinkle into the audience.’ Now the crowd is dripping red and chanting ‘Kill that chump!’ (meaning crucify their savior). ‘He’s already dead,’ I yell back. But they keep repeating their steadfast request; so, after shrugging, I leap off the ropes and land right on your ribcage.”