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I was hoping to bury Cody personally, the way I buried his father, forced to wear polkadots and dance with a large black woman. Then I would snap his spine for daring to leave in the first place. Ah. The road not taken. But why? Why do they still call me a carny in the dirtsheets? And mad? All I want to do is to create the perfect sports entertainer. Not for power, not for evil, but for good. The Performance Center will be the first of many Superstar mills - they shall march out of my laboratory and sweep away every Indy promotion, every remaining rival, in every nation, until the very planet is in the loving grip of the Pax McMahonica. And then Sports Entertainment will reign, and the world, and all humanity, shall bow to me in humble gratitude...
