My name is Cody Rhodes. I am 28 years old. I am a performer for the EBWF and I am, without question, the most attractive man on the roster. I believe in taking care of myself, in a balanced diet, in a rigorous exercise routine. No steroids or any other type of performing enhancing drug has ever entered my body. I have to work harder than most to retain my physique and good looks as I was not blessed with superior genetics. My father has been obese his entire life and is ugly to put it very bluntly. My older half-brother is so visually unappealing that he is almost never seen with his entire face covered in gold paint.
But I am different. In the
morning, if my face is a little puffy, I'll put on an ice
pack while doing my stomach crunches. I can do a thousand
now. I am a marvel to behold. Most people, and certainly not those I call my "co-workers" would ever work as hard as I do for perfection. Deep pore lotion, water-activated gel cleanser, honey almond body scrubs, exfoliating gels. Herb mind facial masque's, anti-aging eye balm. The rest of the roster probably even know what half of those things are. And those are just one of the many reasons I'm superior to them.
But you can always be thinner and look better.
I'm your traditional wrestling villain. The audience and my coworkers detest me and I play this role to perfection. A flash a cocky arrogant grin when I need to and I possess a razor sharp wit. I'm a dashing rogue. A few keystrokes on my twitter account riles them all up. They are marionettes and I am the puppet master.
..But everything I do is fake. An illusion. There is an idea of Cody Rhodes. But there is no real me.
As I haven't been on television in the past few months I've been in my own home and not on the road. I have a huge white living room with floor-to-ceiling windows, decorated in expensive, minimalist
high style: bleached oak floors, a huge white sofa, a large
Baselitz painting (hung upside down) and very expensive
electronic equipment. The room is impeccably neat. I only purchase the best, most critically acclaimed forms of entertainment. Whether it's movies, music or television programs.
I have to keep up this appearance.
I've brought a young woman home with after taking her out to an insanely expensive dinner at a high class restaurant. A blonde. Vapid. Impossible to carry on a intelligent conversation with. But she fits her curves into a red dress well and has enormous fake breasts which I enjoy thoroughly. And, of course, I'm dressed in impeccable fashion. A suit that is probably worth more than the regular Joe's monthly paycheck. It's absolutely necessary that I look better than everyone else. I must have all the finest things from women to objects. Prestige is very important to me. Which is why my upcoming match is so important to me. Because it will put me in line for a title shot. Something I can carry around that will make me seem better than those who don't have one. But lately..
I've been feeling what is called..depersonalization. Feeling as though I'm watching myself with no control over my actions. The world can often times seem vague, dreamlike or lacking in significance. I don't think I'm completely over the trauma I suffered. I at one point went through a mental breakdown. I believed my own face was a rotting nightmare, covered in insects that I couldn't remove and wounds that required me to hide my features with a mask.
..I got better. But sometimes I see flashes of decomposing flesh when I look at other people. Specifically ugly people. Which is why I hate ugly people. Like the two men I have find myself facing off against in the near future. Daniel Bryan and Jay Briscoe.
I pace back in forth in front of my lovely guest as she sips from a glass of wine from her position on the couch. After she takes a drink she places the glass onto the table in front of her without the aid of a coaster. Instantly my mood sours and I instruct her to "Use a coaster" in a voice that was far harsher than I had intended to let her head. She apologies and quickly does as I had instructed. A give her a fake smile that she can't see through and the tense moment passes.
"Are you familiar with our product?" I ask her with a slightly quirked, playful brow.
"Not really. But I know how amazing you look in your ring outfit."
I chuckle. It's true, of course. She doesn't even know that it's called ring gear. Or even trunks. She is only here because she enjoys how I look and I take her to expensive restaurants. But she's also only here because I like her appearance as well. So I guess we're both pretty shallow.
"Well.." I continue on with my earlier thought "..I have two opponents this week. And neither of them are amazing looking in THEIR ring gear."
"Oh?" She chirps curiously. "I thought all wrestlers were in shape?"
"Well, they are in shape. They just aren't very much to look at. One of them is short. Very short. Disgustingly short." I make sure to clarify this for her so that's it's completely understood how miniscule Daniel Bryan is. "He's very troll like." Thinking about how unkempt Daniel Bryan is makes me almost want to gag. Doesn't he know that we're being filmed in high definition?
"That sounds awful. But I'm sure you can beat him." My own personal cheerleader routes me on. As if I could possibly need it.
"He's dangerous. He is a master of..well..we call them 'holds' you see. Maneuvers that weaken body parts. He's very distinguished at these type of things. That is the key thing I will have to avoid if I want to be victorious. If he locked me into one of those holds he could potentially snap one of my limbs like a twig."
My date, who I most certainly will have sex with tonight, gasps in worry. I give her sly, heroic sort of grin to ease her nerves.
"But not to worry. It isn't something I haven't dealt with before. It won't be easy but I'll make sure to put a proper strategy in place so that doesn't happen."
I'm nervous. I don't want Daniel Bryan to put me in one of those holds. Not because of the pain but because, as I've noted, I've been feeling completely divorced from my own personal physicality lately. My body's sensations, feelings, emotions and behaviors don't feel as though they belong to me. But because if I lose to him I'll feel like less of a man. Daniel Bryan is a ring technician and that cannot be taken away from him but he isn't at all handsome. I can't be bested by such an inferior life form.
"Didn't you say you had to fight someone else?"
"I did." In any event, she is at least paying attention and seems invested in my upcoming struggle. Not that I care. "The other wrestler is perhaps even less appealing that the first one I described. He's..from the south. Not very educated. If I'm not mistaken I believe he owns, or at least helps to manage, a chicken farm with his family." The details are blurry but learning the ins and outs about Jay Briscoe's life is not something I want to waste time on. Whatever it is he does outside of wrestling involves diseased, disgusting creatures and that's all i need to know.
"A chicken farm?!" Aghast, she blurts out almost before I finish my sentence.
"Something like that." A slight shrug of my shoulders demonstrates how little I care about the particulars of Briscoe's life outside of wrestling. But it is worth mocking him for. "He very well could be inbred because he certainly looks like it. This does not make him any less of a threat. That is man is able to fight and I suppose you fight a little harder when you come from nothing and you want to be at the top. He's managed victories over bigger names like Edge and most recently Bret Hart."
"Bret Hart?! He stills wrestles?!" Again, she seems utterly shocked. I can't help but smirk as I'm sure I've asked this exact question myself.
"He does. Unfortunately. But, old age aside, Bret Hart is a ring general with a wealth of experience. My second opponent cannot be underestimated as he has been incredibly impressive."
I'm not sure what I possibly could dread more. Losing to Daniel Bryan or Jay Briscoe. I don't care who Briscoe has managed to defeat. He is an ignorant, vile looking excuse for a human being. And he's from the INDIES. He's used to wrestling in front of the toothless and poor not that he's any better than they are. Edge and Bret Hart should hide in shame for allowing someone like THAT to defeat them. I simply cannot allow that.
"How will you manage with him? With both of them?" The question snaps me out of my thoughts.
"No need to worry." I hold up my palms in a calming manner. "I'll manage to overcome this. Somehow. There is something huge at stake her. An opportunity for a title that is held by John Cena."
"Ooh. I know who that is." She sort of purrs when she says that and I almost feel insecure. Almost. John Cena is a household name and while attractive in a dumb, caveman like jock sort of way, I'm confident that I'm much better looking. I'm sure of it.
"Yes. John Cena. A big star. One of the biggest." Cordially I bow my head as I speak as if I could possibly have a shred of respect for that man child. "A big opportunity for me. I think my experience in big matches will allow me to be the one who dethrones him." Talking about the ugly and unintelligent is draining me. I draw in closer to my catch for the night and instantly she begins to giggle like a freshman. "..But I think we've done enough talking for the evening.."
We disrobe and retreat to my bedroom. I give her a night of pleasure that I'm sure she had never reached before. Modestly, I must admit that I am an amazing lover. I spend a lot of time gazing at my own physique during the sex in my large mirror. I look great. My body is tone and lean. She's a lucky woman to find a man like me in my prime.
When it's done I feel nothing and that troubles me. She is shown the door shortly after it's over. I don't find myself satisfied despite the session being sultry and sensual. Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why. I feel cold. Distant. I have to defeat Daniel Bryan and Jay Briscoe. I have to defeat John Cena and become the IC Champion. Surely, such an accomplishment would allow me to feel something, wouldn't it? I have to obtain more. I must become more well known and more important. If I continue to surround myself with only the best I feel so insignificant. But for now I will continue to wear this mask and go through these motions.
