Sal Does Not Believe Professional Wrestling Is Real

Hey, folks. Sal again.

I've got somethin' gettin' my craw. How come a guy can't express himself without gettin' shit on?

Here's the straight talk comin': Sal likes to feel comfortable in his uniform. Always has. So, what's the big deal if he's a little choosey about his undershirts? Since when can't a guy wear a "Hulkamania Rules" t-shirt and walk around the clubhouse?

See, it's rainin' tonight and my teammates (and, no, Sal can't say what team) are all loosey-goosey, figurin' we ain't gonna play. Everybody's layin' out, playin' cards, listenin' to their iPods, doin' whatever they like doin'. You know, bein' comfy.

So, anyways, Sal wants to be comfy too, so he takes off his uni, and his jock, and he's psyched to go check out the "Rock Star: Supernova" finale on TiVo (can you believe Lukas won?).

Well, shit, before you know it all the guys are comin' up to Sal and goin', like, "Whatcha gonna do, brother, when Hulkamania runs wild on you?" and then they're flexin' their muscles all different kinda weird ways. And Sal's kina confused until one of my guys (let's call him "Gary The Shef") points at Sal's shirt and says, "White boy's crazy."

Now, Sal is a good teammate, all about the chemistry. But he's a little upset that he's gettin' picked on for wearin' a Hulk Hogan shirt. This shirt preaches what Sal believes, cuz Sal says his prayers and eats his vitamins too.

And Sal likes yellow and red color combinations.

So, I'm kinda mad. Sal hopes he's not gettin' picked on cuz he's the new guy. Sal hopes he's gettin' picked on cuz it's easier to make fun of a t-shirt during a rain delay than the size of some of these guys' schlongs.