An Open Letter . . .

. . . to World Wrestling Entertainment.

Dear WWE,

It's a common principle in any business activity to strike while the iron is hot. In the event of any resurgence in fame or popularity, an industry needs to be able to satisfy the demand of the general public.

With the recent success of the major motion picture The Wrestler, it would seem that people were willing to re-visit the fucking spectacle that is professional wrestling. And what did the federation of professional wrestling offer to these potential enthusiasts? Nothing. No enhanced advertisements, no viral marketing campaign, no anything at all. For shame. How could a sport that prides itself on shameless promotion not seize the opportunity.

It's not too late. I predict Mickey Rourke will be found dead within six months, bringing attention back to his final performance and with it -the eyes of the nation.

So what I propose is this: A new cast of characters that will force people to sit down and get excited again. What follows are such characters . . .

The Candidate.

With the recent political fervor in these United States, every American now has an opinion. From the disenfranchised voter to those who are apolitical, everybody now thinks something. It's these people (see; everyone) who are the constituents of The Candidate!

Hailing from Washington D.C., The Candidate weighs in at an impressive 300 lbs! Dawned in black speedo shorts, a black necktie, and a black eye mask (don't ask me why, it just looks good) The Candidate hurls his opponent into the ropes. As the opponent is flung back towards our recently elected heel, The Candidate extends a handshake, clutching his opponents palm, and begins to squeeze while shaking vigorously. The opponent is brought to his knees, screaming for mercy as The Candidate continues to shake and shake.

As the opponent lays on the canvas, writhing in pain, The Candidate paces the mat, speaking to himself while gesticulating in a way reminiscent of Clinton's "I did not have sexual relations" speech. He then lifts his opponent by his hair, and tucks the felled man's head between his legs. He hoists the man from his torso and holds him mid-air. The opponent's legs flail. The Candidate is nodding his head to the cheering crowd. Oh no! Can it be? Yes! Yes! It's, The Polarizer!

And like that the match is over. . . wait! No, The Candidates' corner man, Gerry Mandering, is calling our hero over. They're both nodding in agreement. The Candidate is now standing over his opponent. He's pointing at him as he speaks. What's he saying? "You're no Jack Kennedy." The crowd screams in delight. He's grabbing the opponent by his left arm and leg. He's spinning, lifting the opponent higher and higher. Yes, he's got him in a Swift Boat! And he releases the opponent who soars into the air, reaches out, and touches the face of God!

This match is over, America. Your Candidate is the winner!

What do you think? I've got plenty more where that came from.

Sincerely,
A.v.E