At lunch one day during my senior year of high school, I made a casual comment about how great of a mascot I could be. Mostly due to my willingness to put my body on the line. I viewed myself as the Shane McMahon of mascots. So logically my friends kept egging me on, until I applied to become the mascot of South Windsor High. I did so and got the job, although it isn’t really a job since I didn’t get paid at all, but still. There was one problem though: if I damaged the suit at all, I’d have to pay the hundred something bucks the suit itself cost in order to replace it. So all the big bumps that I was going to take went out the window as I did not possess that kind of money. I wanted to do a backflip from the stands onto the field, that would’ve went horribly wrong on purpose, all of that rawesomeness, gone.
My first game was on a day that was 93 degrees. My high school was down by double digits minutes into the game, and there were little kids that kept making fun of me. During half time my friend brought me water, I drank it with the head on because I didn’t want to break kayfabe. None of the water got in my mouth, the water slowly began to drip down my chest, down my legs and into my shoes. So I had soggy shoes, during a 93 degree weather, during a blowout of a game where I’d been doing push ups and slam dancing what seemed like days.
I can relate to the cookie monster here, he’s probably miserable. It’s August, the sun is starting to go down, so chances are he’s been out there all day. I don’t blame him one bit for staring, if given the chance to stare at naked women with body paint on during my time as a mascot, I would’ve in a heartbeat. The cookie monster can do no wrong in my book, good for him. I salute you Mr. Monster.