[  Stepping out of the shower, a very large man wraps a towel 'round himself and scratches his head.  It takes a wee bit more effort than one should think, due to the fact that he's wearing a green and blue mask which he never removes.  Evidently, never even extends to the shower.  He is a strange man, but an awesome one.  Have you ever seen him wrestle?  Oh, me boyo, you've only to catch but a glimpse!  His rippling muscles undulating before throngs of fans, his long red hair extending from under the mask down his back, his genius in not bothering to name a single one of his signature moves.  But he is no ordinary man.  This man is Finnigan.  Finnigan the Destroyer.  ]

[  Walking over to the mirror, he grabs himself a can of shaving creme and pumps a generous amount into the palm of his hand.  Taking care to splash a bit of water onto his still-masked face, he applies the shaving creme liberally about his face, forming the outline of a beard and moustache.  ]

Finn:  Aye, I'm mightily glad to be Irish.

[  Why's that, Finn?  ]

Finn:  I only need to shave once a year.

[  Ah.  ]

[  As Finn revels in his Irishtude, he brandishes an antiquated shaving razor and proceeds to scrape the foam from his face off the mask.  Completely scouring it off, he pats his mask.  ]

Finn:  Ah...smooth as a Welchman's scrotum.

[  How would you know that, Finn? ]

Finn:  Ask me arse and eff off and don't be annoying me, me bucko.  I've ways to make you silent...permanently.

[  How's that?  Are you going to feel my scrotum?  ]

Finn:  Argh!  If only ye weren't so third-person omniscient!  Then I'd boot ye but good!

[  You cannot get me, Finn.  I'm snug as a bug in a rug betwixt these two brackets.  Your bleeding threats roll off me like rain from Steve Reaves' arse.  ]

Finn:  I'll get ye one of these days, me boyo.  Ye can't be having those brackets all the time.  One day, ye'll forget.  And then I'll have ye.

[  Well, until that day comes, just worry about retaining your title and beating J.L. Fire.  ]

Finn:  Why would I have to worry about a thing like that?

[  Because when you lose a title match, you lose the title.  ]

Finn:  Faith and begorrah!  Ye didn't tell me this before!

[  Well, it was assumed, Finn.  ]

Finn:  I had best be off to the, er, um...work-outing place...

[  Gym.  ]

Finn:  Right ye are, love.  Where would I be without ye?

[  Probably raising sheep in Ireland and drinking heavily again.  ]

Finn:  Ah yes...

[  Finn, Finn, Finn...what're we to do with ye?  I mean you.  Shite.  ]