Anyone Know a Good Tailor?

[=Q=]

You want to know about pressure?

Pressure is an awards show.

An awards show where everyone is nominated for something especially important. A gala event, a spectacle, a true HAPPENING. An honest-to-god happening. Everyone is there, looking their best ... shoes shined and shirts starched. They're in the audience, waiting to hear their names called and instead ... it's intermission and they have to sit through a wrestling match. In the middle of their big night! They have to watch someone ELSE perform for them! Everyone's gonna be watching. At least on any given night, they're in the back getting ready or winding down from THEIR match ... so you can usually delude yourself into thinking that they might not be paying attention. They might be taping their wrists.

Or taking an exceptionally long pee.

Or eating some gummi worms from catering.

... I eat gummi worms from catering.

But no. Not TONIGHT! Oh no. No gummi worms tonight. No, everyone is sitting at full attention, dressed their very finest ... and I've seen these shows. It's not just the talent, it's more than that. Celebrities ABOUND! That's right. The cream of the coffee. The tippy-tops of society, and they'll all be watching ME. Me in my horrible old wrestling clothes, sweating and panting and looking a right fool jumping and flipping and running around. Mostly running, usually. Oh man.

And I have to entertain them! I always had such stage fright. Like that time in school when I was up for a lot of a school awards, and there were so many for me that they just had me stay up on stage instead of getting up and down and up and down and UP and DOWN. And everyone was looking and staring and pointing and whispering and ... well, the underwear trick didn't help any. That just made it worse. I mean, people in their UNDERWEAR were still watching me and pointing and whispering. What's that say about me?!

I felt soooooooooooo bad. And it wasn't for a bad thing, either. I mean, I was getting awards. I was recognized as being AWESOME. That's right. And yet I was the one feeling particularly bad?! How the ever-loving froopin' woop does that work? Pressure is an awards show. It's not so bad if you don't win anything. If you don't at least win a participant award, then you weren't doing something right.

Hey.

That's a new way to look at it.

I've already won a participant award. That's right. Me. -I- was selected to entertain these people as they sit in the crowd in hopes and dreams of winning an award. I'm already the bees' knees because I am the entertainment and was chosen to perform before these high-caliber athletes and stars. But ... am I a performing monkey?! Will they throw peanuts at me if I do bad? ... does catering even serve peanuts?

... I hope not.

Anyways. And after the match. Oh god. I have to go to the awards show. And you know what they'll be saying? BLAH BLAH BLAH. That's all they'll say. BLAH BLAH BLAH. Good match, but if it were me I would have done THIS thing instead of what you did and BLAH BLAH BLAH. So boring. Everyone and their macho 'Lookitme I'm so awesome and OMG I'm tough and I'm gonna kick your butt' and grrrrrrr. Yeah. Caveman grrrrrs. So BOOOOORING. No one's going to talk about anything FUN.

Like the awards. Or the way my suit looks on me. By the way, did I mention I'm going to be wearing a suit? Thaaaaaaaat's RIGHT! I'm gonna dress up. I'm going to wear such an awesome tuxedo. It's going to be sweet. In fact ... I think I may wear it for the whoooooole day BEFORE the awards. OOOH! What if I wrestle in it!? That would be so cool! And I'm sure they'd appreciate that I want to look my most amazing while I entertain them! Might be kind of hard to run in those shoes. And what if it gets ruined?! That would not be good. I'll have to make sure Andy doesn't mess it up. I'll ask him before the show. I mean, it's -kind of- like an exhibition, amirite?

Owait.

The tournament ... thing.

The Genesis tournament.

Wrestling belts are weird. I mean ... who wears a belt that big?! I don't have pants that size. It would definitely not fit into any belt loops on ANY pair of pants that I own. I'd have to go buy a new pair. Get it custom made. ... I -do- like shopping. That'd be an odd reQuest. "Scuse me, do you have any pants with belt loops the size of notebooks?' They might think I was crazy. But then I'd show them the belt, and they'd understand. Or maybe they wouldn't. But they'd understand my money.

People always understand money. Money talks ...

... I never knew the rest of that saying. It's like something people say, and you're supposed to understand it. Like, you should just know! And you don't, and you feel left out. It's sad. This light is hurting my eyes. I should close the window. It's already night time, but that stupid fluorescent light is shining like the center of a disco ball. I wonder how that belt will look as a disco ball. I could string it up from the ceiling, and spin it ... and shine laser pointers at it ... and MAN OH MAN that would be AWESOME.

Championship Disco Ball.

That is what it should be called.

Today is the end of the world, and I'm sitting in front of my window ... staring out at the hotel parking lot ... thinking about championship disco balls. How did I get to this point? Maybe I should read up, reading what I've typed would help. ... probably not though. I'd just go off and think about how ugly the belt would look AS a belt. I bet it's heavy. I don't want to carry that EVERYwhere. I bet people would try to steal it. And I'd have to say 'No, this is mine.' And maybe they'd listen. But what if they didn't?

I'd have to get mean and be all 'Hey hey ... 'scuse me sir but that's MINE. You can no has!' And maybe I'd kind up jump a little in place, and when he flinched I'd run. Run like the wind. Looks windy out ... maybe it is the end of the world.

I'm going to be the last new Champion evar.

I should get dressed.

The last Champion of the World evar ... has no pants on.

He just needs a belt to hold them up.