the main event

Insomnia, dressed in a red and yellow, full-body spandex suit, the decorative sequins sparkling intermittently in the light from the flashbulbs going off, looked Nyquil in the eye, took him by the throat and threw him to the sweat-soaked mat. She placed her stiletto clad foot across his neck, exerting downward pressure and slowly, ever so slowly, set about crushing his windpipe. He looked up at her in abject terror, his eyes bulging out of his head, his last, dying breath ripped raggedly from his lungs.

An audible sigh rose up from the audience then, a palpable mixture of sadness and disappointment. They had come in droves, you see, from all over the land, filling the gymnasium and spilling out onto the dead brown grass of the lawn, hoping with every last ounce of belief they could muster that Nyquil, their final and most decorated champion, would defeat el Diablo. Alas, evil had once again proven victorious. Insomnia, with fire blazing in her eyes, laughed maniacally at the crowd, her fists raised triumphantly in the air and set forth on her reign of sleeplessness.

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