7:15 p.m. – One Of Us! One Of Us!

First some guy drives past me in square-framed glasses – trademark of tag team the Dudley Boys – and yells at me, “Yeah! Dudleeeeeeys!” It takes me a second to realize he’s trying to bond with me because I, too, am wearing square-framed glasses. Yeah! Myopiaaaaaa! Twenty-seven seconds later, two guys in a Panama hat and ten-gallon hat, respectively, walk by and yell, “Matt Hardy! Matt Hardy!” It takes me a second to realize they are yelling this because of my sculpted physique.

7:50 p.m. – Keepin’ It Real

The announcer comes on and proclaims that tonight’s SmackDown! event is sponsored by the JVC Tower of Power – and not just the horn section. The crowd boos. Evidently, there is some resistance to World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE) selling out.

8:05 p.m. – I Assume the Chant for “Puppies” Wasn’t Instigated by PETA

Dawn Marie and Torrie square off angrily for no discernable reason. “Take off your shirt!” some nitwit bro yells, to which someone else in the audience – also male – responds, “You take off your shirt!” Feminism is alive and well on the UCSB campus. Torrie ends up tearing off Dawn Marie’s blouse, revealing a zebra-print bikini top that would be at home outside Sam’s To Go. The fake boobs beneath the top wouldn’t be too out of place there, either.

8:25 p.m. – As the World Turns to Bow Before the Aryan Nation

Everyone is cheering for Edge in this creepy, choreographed way. I feel like I’m witnessing a cross between a daytime soap and a Hitler Youth rally.

8:55 p.m. – Just Who’s the Witty Cynic Here, Anyway?

Aimee and Justin Neff from Lompoc get accosted by the Nexus for the crime of making eye contact. Justin has long blond hair and works in radiology (yes, but I write for the sports page!). His sole comment on the proceedings is, “Woo!” Aimee’s dream sign is “for all the women in WWE.” It reads, ‘McGann or Mentor?’ referring to local implant companies. Wish I’d thought of that.

9:15 p.m. – Go Mess Yourself, Mothermesser

The expected Falls crowd isn’t present, replaced by mostly James Joyce types. In fact, most of the obesity is accounted for by the children. Lots of children with bandanas tied across their foreheads, as well. Whenever the time comes to yell, “You fucked up!” the chubby kids in front of me bellow, “You messed up!” which might be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard a wee thug say.

9:30 p.m. – The Son of God is a Five-Foot-Tall Chicano

About the only thing Rey Mysterio Jr. can’t do is walk on water. Everything else is within his ken. Everyone else in the match simply served to piss the audience off until Rey got in the ring. He is amazing and I’m eternally grateful I saw him – thank you, square-framed glasses!