I Have Discovered the Identity of the Masked Dude

We're off to a big, booming new year, and by "we" I mean "me," who knows what you're up to. I have solved one of the great mysteries plaguing me since long ago in 2002: I have unmasked the Masked Dude, my stalker.

The challenge was issued, and last week the cage match was carried out, in an extremely small cage. The opponents were fierce—one, yours truly, the other, a hairless, burly fellow of muscular stock and carrying a one-foot advantage. Some might have foolishly bet on the Masked Dude, but I didn't gold-glitter these wrestling tights of mine with expensive gold shavings because I'm a loser—well, not always a loser. This time, I won.

From the corners we each heard the bell ding!, rung by my cat Makeshift, and we sprung into action. Oh, I was like a titan, in tights. Crash here! Boom there! Wudhustlethump in the middle! Then, I began wrestling.

It was a tough match, true; perhaps the toughest I ever had, even though it wasn't as tough as all the ones I lost. I managed to avoid his deadly, strong-armed pins. I bopped him with "the Ancient Elbow"! I flew through the air and pummeled him with "the Tiny Chesthammer"! And then, when I had him on the ropes, figuratively, I sprang off the ropes, literally, and gave him the ol' Rok Finger "Stamp of Approval"!

The Stamp of Approval is one move from which there is no recovery. Right into his right foot until it was flattened by pure Rok Finger power, and the Dude went down like brick balloons. Little could I have guessed, I had found his Achilles' heel, though it was strangely placed on his big toe rather than the back of the foot. Yes, the Dude suffered from an extremely ingrown toenail that frequently led to his defeat in other matches, especially those matches where he wasn't pinned before the bell's ding faded out.

I put the hurt on him, good people. It was quite a sight, and a beautiful sound as well, though I wouldn't recommend the smell. The crack! of that toe bone breaking, it was the sound of Rok Finger's wrestling dominance in a match for the ages. Ages 60 and up, maybe, but ages nonetheless. For years, both I and the Masked Dude wondered who would win when these titans tussled, and now that it's over I can admit I was more than a little scared. Scared, Rok? You? I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, asshole.

There was only one prize for this lonely match, and I'm not referring to the custom-made belt I purchased at the swap meet, although I guess technically that would make it two prizes; but the prize I refer to is the unmasking of the Masked Dude. And you can imagine my shock to find it was Camembert!

No, not my roommate Camembert, don't be an idiot. He's in a wheelchair. No, it was another Camembert, Camembert Hickson. I didn't know him at all and had never seen his face before that night, but still you can imagine the shock to find out he shared the same unlikely name as my roommate. Weird, isn't it?

It was one of the highlights of my life, beating that fool and putting him off my case forever. And no one was there to share it with me, except my cat, Makeshift. And, yeah, the Masked Dude. Where was Lee? Where was Camembert? The other one?

This has helped put everything in perspective for me. I offered to take Dude Camembert out for a victory beer, on me, but he was desperately in need of medical attention. No hard feelings between us remain—I hope he got that medical attention. But my cat and I went out for a beer.

Rok Finger is a man of motion, a lonely man, with only a cat as his real friend. I've remained in one place too long, as roommate Camembert has long suggested. It's time for me to move on with my life, if not physically, then at least spiritually. So even though I remain at home in the apartment, upstairs I've already left. Rok Finger is a loner, and one day I'll find someone to share that isolation with.

Challenge of the Masked Dude
The new year is presenting more hurdles than some excessive hurdle-presenting device of some sort. Remember the Masked Dude? Yes, former pro-wrestler the Masked Dude has been consistently on my ass like my former glitter-covered spandex tights.... (1/20/03)

A High-Resolution New Year
Many readers have an unshakeable image of me from reading my column. They see Rok Finger as a cool, collective individual with a good head on his shoulders, by way of a stodgy little neck. A tough-as-nails, yet sensitive and insightful observer of... (1/6/03)

'Tis the Season for Gifts with No Pleasin'
Rok Finger's shopping list is full to bursting this year, like my bladder. This time last year I was a different man, though both of us the same height and with the same hideous facial features, and I bought only a few gifts, for my wife, Arvelyn,... (12/23/02)

Re-Decorating My Life
As you might guess, I'm back inside the safety of my apartment. It turns out it was all some sort of misunderstanding—Lee was on tour with his new band and Camembert was with him, acting as roadie. Sure, it doesn't explain the nasty note telling... (12/9/02)

Let My Love Open the Door
Brace yourselves for nonsense, good people. Once again my column has to take a backseat to the ridiculous happenings in my personal life. I can't blame you for outrage, if I were my boss I'd have to seriously question my dedication to writing this... (11/25/02)