Some people grow up watching wrestling and dream of one day being WWE champion. Of winning the ultimate prize at Wrestlemania, the grandest stage of them all, while tens of thousands scream their name and millions more watch at home. Of carrying out feats of athleticism so grandiose they echo through eternity, then, now, forever…
The wrestler in this month’s diary is not one of those people. Yes, he’s on the hunt for championship gold. But he has no intention of entertaining you along the way. Your enjoyment is poison to him, your hatred ambrosia. He intends to clamber up the rankings ladder and win a championship belt – probably one of the ones you forgot existed – without ever winning a match fairly.
Say hello to the most unworthy contender in the history of sports entertainment: ‘Luscious’ Lord Fentiman Skett. He’s named after the sound of someone running from conflict while wearing oversized homemade clogs. He’s the sort of creature who stopped tying damsels to train tracks because he decided it was a waste of rope; a man who saves his red shells in Mario Kart so he can fire them back
