Okay, I know I swore that I was never going to write about pro wrestling again.

    I admit, when I accused Ric Flair of giving me pink eye, I went too far.

    But I have decided that I know now precisely what I intend to do with my life, and I feel the need to tell all of you, even though it means coming to terms with my dark pro wrestling past.

    You see, I am going to write for pro wrestling.

    It's the only logical choice. After all, what am I going to do with my creative writing degree? Become a starving writer and sell my work at fire sales in the lobby of your local Holiday Inn? Wander the streets with a sign saying "Will write for food"?

    No; then I would be squandering my gift. The world of pro wrestling needs me.

    I discovered this on Sunday night, while watching a wrestling pay-per-view at my friends Deidre & Rich's house. Sure, there was a lot to be proud of, with the notable exception of Ric Flair getting hit in the nuts with a crow bar, something I believe to be a damnable sin. But so much more could be done.

    If there is one thing that freaks me out about pro wrestling, it's the way they just stand there and take it:

    Wrestler #1: Okay, on the count of three, I'm going to pick you up and stick your head between my knees and drop you on the ground and kick you in the groin until you cry like a woman. Okay?

    Wrestler #2: Okay, but only if I get to slap across the chest a few times and make out with your woman backstage.

   What I think the pro wrestling world needs is more biting.

    Wrestler #1: Okay, this time I'm going to pull down your pants in front of these two nuns who are inexplicably in the front row tonight, then I'm going to do the Flaming Cartwheel of Death into you and kick a hole straight through your stomach, all right?

    Wrestler #2: [chomp]

    Wrestler #1: My nose, my nose!

    Also, there needs to be some sort of variation in the story lines. Now, I know a good portion of you don't watch pro wrestling, but I'm sure at least some of you watched it as children, when the Hulkster and Andre the Giant were king. Well, it's pretty much the same now, except that Andre the Giant is dead, but they still dig up his bones every once in awhile and wave them around menacingly.

    Now, all that happens is someone will turn good, then some bad guy will come and whisper something in his ear, and suddenly the good guy is a seething volcano of evil, and he will pick up some foreign object, like a cow prod or a frozen leg of lamb, and attack anyone who gets in his way, including the refs, the announcers, and some guy in a Goldberg t-shirt.

    I have four words that would solve this problem:

    Days of Our Lives.

    Admit it: pro wrestling is just as much a soap opera as any daytime show, only sweatier and a little better acted.

    So wouldn't it be sweet if they started doing crossovers?

    You know, one day Goldberg will show up on "Days" and kick the snot out of Bo, and then Stefano will come to Nitro and start controlling everyone's minds, until finally they all have to go to France and shoot on location at an old spooky castle for no apparent reason. Women would watch for the drama, and men would watch to see Princess Gina in a thong.

    Maybe there's something wrong with me that I want to change the way pro wrestling works. But no, I really don't think so. And I'll wrestle anyone who says otherwise. And I bite.