discover your inner candy heart @ quiz me

It took forever just to find the stupid place. Show can't give directions for shit. He had drawn me a crude map on a Kit-Kat wrapper, but the only thing I could make out was the international symbol for "hamburger". I finally shambled across a big sign that said something about a "health club", which sounded promising, like there'd be some bludgeoning involved. Not so.

They wouldn't even let me in without purchasing a membership. Luckily, I located some fatty who already had one and stabbed my way out of a sticky situation. All that blood he lost must have done wonders for his cholesterol level. I like to help people.

So I finally got inside and met up with Show. I have to admit, he's looking mighty spry. That Andre the Giant leotard leaves little to the imagination. We started with some push-ups, but then we got tired of eating Flintstones-themed ice cream and lay down for awhile. Show had good things to say about the Jazzercise class, but, as you may know, I don't care for black people. I thought maybe they'd have that Sweatin' To The Oldies with Ron Simmons, but no. Damn.

We finished up with some jumping jacks before hitting the sauna. Just me and the Big Show sitting there in our skimpy towels, sultry steam causing our manly physiques to ripple with moist, exhilarating sweat. Things got kinda... weird.

I don't wanna talk about it.

"Slavery in HOUSTON did not suddenly end in the last 666 years, but rather it was slowly replaced when new BONERS introduced other forms of STINKY labor. Employers were often reluctant to STAB large amounts of COFFINS for the slaves because of the EMBALMING economy. The legal term ‘slave’, continued on for years, but it was gradually CRUCIFIED with PANTIES in the towns, and URINE DEAD MAN WALKING people in the countryside. Today, there are no more slaves that exist in the world of UNDERTAKER."

LMAO. Boners.

I hate young people so damned much. I think I'm going to form a stable with Bob Holly and Billy Gunn. We'll hunt down everyone under the age of 73.

I swear to Satan, you try to be cordial to one black person in your entire life, and everything blows up in your face. Turn down your rap music and listen up, Orlando Jordasche: You're Gonna Pay. This is the thanks I get for teaching you the ins and the outs of the business? For showing you the proper manner in which to shake Droz's hand? For taking you to Wendy's and purchasing you a Kids' Meal? You could have been the black John Cena, but I'd guess you'd rather be the white Virgil. Wait, that's not right.

Forget it. I'm done. No more protégés in the sidecar. I'll just keep my scented candles in there from now on. I hope you're proud of yourselves.

What's more, he refuses to invest in Deadman Inc. every time I ask. He says he doesn't like the look of my "profit margarine" or something. My company doesn't even MAKE butter. Although that's a pretty good idea. Better write that down in my Palm Pilot.

I think I'm going to rig Bradshaw's monocle so that he gets one of those black circles around his eye the next time he wears it. 0WNED!!!

Sara keeps bitching at me to plant some flowers. I tried to find those ones that stink like corpses, but I guess they don't carry them at Home Depot. Oh well. I'll just swing by the cemetery and pick something up.

Heh heh, that faggy flower story is pretty funny. Phallus.

I figured I should offer an olive branch to my new fat father figure on this special day. There's a reason for the season. I had the Big Show go into Death Valley and knit a snakeskin yarmulke for Paul Heyman. I think he really liked it. He didn't yell at me or spit globs of cheesesteak on me or anything. Heyman's not such a bad guy. And I guess having two dads is pretty cool. It's just like that TV show. What was it called? Capitol Critters or something.

I'm really sick and tired of doing what Heyman tells me. Deadman Inc. doesn't sell out to no greedy Jewish investors. Still, Heyman's got the urn. I can't stay mad at the urn. But I sure don't want to fight the Dudleys. Bubba is always undressing me with his eyes. I can tell.

I asked Heyman if we could settle our differences on Family Feud instead, but he wasn't into it. That would've been sweet, though. Some D-list celebrity host would be like "Name something you'd find in your wallet" and I'd say "Maggots!" and he'd say "Show me... MAGGOTS!" and then I'd show him some maggots.

That reminds me, I just bought a new satin lining for the coffin I sleep in. Comfy.

Still, I think it's sweet that Kane has found his special someone. He's been down in the dumps ever since he had to cut Katie loose. She was smothering him. With her rotting stench. Kane already tried to set Lita on fire once before, so the connection is obviously there.

I still wonder how I'd do as a daddy. A dead daddy. Now it looks like I'm going to be an uncle, so I'll be able to get some practice in. If Kane's kid mouths off and I have to stab it in the face, hey, it's not like it belonged to me or anything.

My step-brothers are jerks. We were all poised to win a big family singing competition, but then my voice changed. Bubba was really mean about it. He was like "C'MON, TAKER! C'MON, TAKER! C'MON, TAKER!" Bastard. At least it was funny when Kane killed their dog. You know which dog I'm talking about. The Dudley dog.

I'd better go. Heyman's yelling at me to do my Hebrew homework. I was like "The only 'brew' Big Evil's interested in comes in a six-pack!" but he was all "You won't be drinking any beer under my roof, mister!" so I screamed "IT'S MY LIFE, DAD!!!" and cranked the Bon Jovi. Hell yeah.