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>I wrestle in the Daily’s Place building in Jacksonville, Florida. My name is Cody Rhodes. I'm 35 years old. I believe in taking care of my spot, and a balanced win tally and a rigorous burial routine. In the morning, if my dog is a little lazy, I'll light up some fireworks while doing my Twitter posts. I can do a thousand now. After I remove the frightened dog, I fire the pyro guy. In the squared circle, I use a ring rope activated kick. Then a Cross Rhodes. And on the face, a knee drop uppercut. Then apply my music, which I leave on for 10 minutes while I take up valuable airtime. I always use a crew with little or no talented wrestlers, because talent dries your face run out and makes you look not over. Then a neck tattoo, then a branded tour bus followed by a final gender reveal on a pro wrestling program. There is an idea of a Main Event Cody Rhodes, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only a midcarder, something illusory, and though I can hide my cold gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable: I simply am not there
