3.13.02, 11:47 PM, Breaking Kayfabe Compound (aka home!). Clothes packed… Check. Mix CD's (nine of them) burned for the trip… Check. Car given 3,000-mile service… Check. Provisions bought for the trip… Check. Batteries on cell phone, Palm Pilot, digital still camera and digital video camera charged… check. Time to go to bed early… check. Map and triptiks obtained… check. Route from Pennsylvania to Toronto planned… check. Goodnight, computer, see you Tuesday night.

3.14.02, 5:26 PM, Batavia NY. At the restaurant of the Best Western in Batavia, NY. The New York Thruway is about 30 seconds from here. Drove since quarter after 11, got over 200 miles on one-half tank of gas. Made one stop about two exits from here, where I picked up some Snapples for tonight and a Red Bull-ish beverage called Venom (also made by Snapple, apparently) for tomorrow. There's also a lounge here but I'm gonna chill in my room - tonight will be for solitude, tomorrow comes the fun.

I brought ten copies of a techno EP I wrote and recorded over the weekend called WMX8. I'll be giving those to the guys this weekend as totems of the trip. Everybody is showing up tomorrow except Hingst and Pamer who will arrive the morning after. Markkind told me that he and Chuck will be leaving Long Island tonight around eight.

I don't know what anyone else in the crew looks like except for John "Freakboy" Brodigan, who I met back in Philly when he made a surprise visit to the hotel when I was covering ECW Cyberslam 2000. Fortunately, we're all set to be on the same floor at the hotel in Toronto. Should be a good time. My dinner's here. Excuse me.

Later: 10:24pm. In the hotel room. Winding down for the evening. The drive today was great - no problems whatsoever and the directions were flawless and easy to follow, thank you Triple-A. The mix CD's I made are flawless so far - the right songs always seemed to turn up at the right time. Dinner was good - tomato basil pasta with mushrooms. The waitress was young and inexperienced but very nice and efficient. She got a $5 tip. I was wearing a Monkees T-shirt today; the hostess, who was about my grandmother's age, asked me who they were, because she never heard of them. Figure that out.

Tonight I thought I would miss Smackdown because of no UPN - as it turned out, I found it whilst channel surfing just as The Rock and Hollywood Hogan were cutting promos on each other. At around 8:30 my mother called the room and gave me some early details. Thanks, Mom!

One of two PBS stations in the area showed two Rat Pack-related specials, one of Frank and Dean with Judy Garland, and the other one being all Dino, mostly clips from his old NBC series, doing his half-sloshed act. Awesome shit.

I drank so much liquid today that I peed three times since I locked myself in the "box" today. Methinks a 4th time might happen soon.

It's almost 11, time to crash. Goodnight!

3.15.02, 2:49 AM, Strathcona Hotel, Toronto, Canada. Finally, the Webmaster Of Extreme is back in one of his favorite cities. The last time I was here on 7.31.99, my connecting flight back home from Calgary, not to mention every other flight from Pearson Airport, was postponed because of a badass thunderstorm, so Air Canada and United had to pay for everyone's hotel rooms, dinner and breakfast for the evening. Before that, I hadn't been there since the mid-seventies, when I was about seven years old, obviously too young to appreciate the nightlife there, staying at the Inn On The Park Hotel coincidentally around the time when Glenn Gould had a second apartment there where he and an engineer would edit the recordings he made at the old Eatons Department Store auditorium.

I woke up this morning in New York around eight, did the three S's, took advantage of the $3.99 hot breakfast there - my last meal in the States until Monday night, checked out, and hit the road around nine. When I was approaching Toronto on the QEW, I shut off volume six of my road trip mix CD series and decided to check out some local radio. The search button came upon a local radio station playing a very appropriate choice, Pink's "Get This Party Started". Damn right, I cranked it to Iggy & The Stooges volume as I took the York St. exit! I found the hotel, blew by the parking garage entrance next door, did a loop (which is a little hard in Toronto because of how trippy the streets are laid out), parked my car inside, got my bags out with a little difficulty, and walked into the hotel. Mark and Chuck were sitting in the lobby waiting for their rooms (and everyone else's) to be readied because of the arrangements the mightly Sheldon Hingst made. I saw Mark and even though I'd never met him in person until today, I figured out from all the private e-mail list communiqués over the years at Scoops and Wrestling Bytes that the bald white guy in the H20 basketball jersey had to be Mark. Mark told me that Travis "Sting7" Williams and his friend Matt "6 of 9" were already here - Travis had left a note at the desk for Mark reading, "Dear Mark, The women of Toronto insist that you leave your pants on. (signed) Sting7". Hilarious. Mark read it, laughed and said, "The private online jokes are coming to life!" We started discussing some early plans for the weekend - I had mentioned last week that I wanted to do some record shopping on Queen St. W and Mark said so did he. That will be tomorrow afternoon's thing to do pre-Axxess.

We get called to the front desk as our rooms are ready - thank you, Strathcona Hotel Staff! Fellow Wrestling Bytes staffer Luke Warm was supposed to room with me but he had to bail out a few months ago (as did Kris Diaz). As a result, I get a single king-size bed instead. We ask if John Brodigan has checked in yet. The clerk says not yet. Mark and Chuck went to crash in their hotel room - they had been up pretty much all night. I settle into my room, put my bags aside (I never unpack - I don't want to leave anything behind in a hotel room drawer), and check out the amenities. The hotel room TV has Nintendo and high-speed web access with a WebTV unit as well as PPV movies. While I hate WebTV because of how unwieldy the thing is, I am thankful that at least I can check e-mail and what some of the other wrestling sites have to say about the weekend's events. While I start to get settled, there's a knock on the door. A hotel staffer delivers a message. It's from Travis: "Dear CJ: Mike Watt called - he says he is no longer speaking to you. Sorry to deliver the bad news. (signed) Sting7."

I call for room service - a rare venture into a burger and fries for this normally semi-vegetarian person (I still eat chicken and fish), mainly because that was what I had when I was held over here in town in '99 - and get my first eyeful of Canadian TV since that same time. I finish lunch, put my tray outside, close the door, and a couple of minutes later, there's another knock on the door. I go to answer it - no one there. I hear footsteps running down the hall and follow the sound. A figure in a black leather jacket and black pants is peeking around the corner of the hallway, doing a Kids In The Hall "crush your head" move with his fingers. It's Freakboy! I barely recognized him. He has just checked into the room right next to mine. He's in 1101 and I'm in 1110. He introduces me to his friend Scott, who was the purveyor of the tickets for partly why we're all here in the first place. They go off to run an errand. I call Mark's room. He answers, "Hello, Club Pantsless". I give him the update. A little later Mark comes over and tells me that we'll be meeting up in the hotel's bar, named The Pub, at 5 for dinner and drinks.

Speaking of in-jokes, one has already started around the name of the hotel. Someone, I forget who, accidentally called the place the Stankonia Hotel (like the Outkast album) and the name has stuck.

At 5, I go down to the Pub, order a Coke and wait for the rest of the crew. Mark and Chuck arrive first. We get an initial table and a few minutes later, I see with my peripheral vision this blue football jersey with a big white "7" being waved. It's Travis and his pal Matt. Introductions are made, pleasantries are made, and we move over to a bigger table at the back of the bar. A little while later, Freakboy and Scott arrive and things really get going. I start to document the proceedings with my DV. Freakboy takes advantage of the camera's proximity to tell a tale about his first day in Toronto that could never translate to print. One would have to see the actual footage to appreciate it. Also documented is Sting7 and Matt making light of Canada's mandated cigarette warnings, which have pictures of diseased lungs on the very top of the package, which inspires Mark's quoting Denis Leary's line from No Cure For Cancer about how cigarettes would still sell even if they were a brand called Tumors packaged in a black package with a skull and crossbones on the cover.

After a few hours in the pub, we reconvene in Club Pantsless and decide on the rest of the weekend's plans. Mark has gotten hold of a local freebie entertainment paper called Eye and we decide on clubs. My first choice would have been a tecnho club of some sort, but I'm open to other suggestions. We find one called the Velvet Underground. Some of the other guys decide to skip on the night, but Mark, Chuck and I are down for a little fun. The club is on Queen St. W, which is a 20 minute or so walk from the hotel. Walking to the club, Mark sees a store called Heretic and says he wants to check it out tomorrow because of the name. We find a spot near the back to check out the place. The club plays music from the 80's on. Mark waited for the right tune to get him to the dance floor. I forget which one that was because the second the DJ played The Specials' "Gangsters", I hit the dance floor, soda in hand, my black leather jacket still on. Maybe it was the fact that I had finished a bottle of hard lemonade about ten minutes earlier, but I'm not telling! Eventually, Mark gets his way to the dance floor, as does about half the club, and we're all there pretty much for the next hour or so. On the way back, Mark remarked about how he was surprised that a mosh pit didn't break out when the DJ started playing heavier material. We stop at a hot dog vendor's cart. They have veggie dogs on the menu, so I get one of those and a Coke. The Coke will be for tomorrow morning while my coffee brews. The veggie hot dog is great. So was this first night in T.O.

3.16.02, 3:15 AM. What a day! That's all I'm gonna say…. Ah, baloney, the whole point of a diary is to preserve personal history, so I'm gonna do it while I'm still wired from the events.

This morning, I got up around eightish, had room service breakfast, and decided to take a quick wander around the immediate vicinity. I find one of the "underground" malls here in T.O. and peruse the area. However, most of the stores aren't open yet except for some of the food vendors. I find a Starbucks and get a tall coffee because the hotel room's coffee was kind of whack. Back at the "Stankonia", I call around to some of the other guys. Hingst and Pamer said they'd be here around noon, but some of us were either antsy or comatose from last night's events. Mark buzzes me and says he and Chuck are going to Queen St. W to peruse the record and other stores there. Chuck wanted to check out a place called Rotate This and I wanted to peep one called the Record Peddler.

The first store we go into is some sort of punky clothing store. Mark goes in because he needs a hat to protect his bald pate from the cold. He finds a Type O Negative hat and then we're back on our way up the street. At the first record store we see, we walk in. I immediately spot the part of the place with all the good techno and electronic stuff and a new Gaetano Parisio 12" on Southsoul catches my eye. I have his "Chapter One" 12". This one is called "Chapter Five". The place has turntables available to audition these records. I take advantage of the service and after a few seconds of preview, take the record. I go back to the techno bins and look for more interesting items. I find another Southsoul label record by Mark Antonio called "Appendix A", one on Misstress Barbara's Relentless label by Rico Cerrone called "Optical Way", and - how appropriate is this for Toronto? - one by a local artist named Jake Fairley called "CN Tower". I try them all out on one of the turntables and I am four for four in this shop. I check out and we go back up the street. We go through a few more stores but there isn't much interesting there. We stop for food at a place called Gorilla Monsoon. I have the veggie burger, Chuck has a regular burger and Mark gets quesadillas. Then it's back up the street where we try to find our record stores. We find Chuck's and we all go in. More techno right by the door, and turntables to audition the tuneage, too! Woohoo! I find six more goodies and wander around the store, finding a reggae section. I find three triple-record box sets from the Trojan label, one with three rare Lee Scratch Perry albums, one of dub material and one of DJ material. I am offered a record box to take my purchases home and I say yes. Mark and Chuck have also found some things here, but not as much as this little black katshke.

We go up the street to find "my" record store, only to find that it's no longer in business as a brick-and-mortar location. Damn. We hit a couple more places before deciding to head back to the hotel. We get there and find out that Hingst and Pamer, and their friend Manservant Hecubus (Alden) have arrived! We go in and Hingst presents everyone with totems - bottles of maple syrup with self-made labels reading "Hingst & Pamer's Maple Goodness" on one side, and bottles of Red Maple beer, a brew made partly from maple syrup. I excuse myself to put my box of records in my room, and come back with the copies of WMX8 for everyone. Totems traded, we all (except for Mark and Chuck who didn't get tickets in time) head for something to eat before going to Axxess. Travis and Matt don't have tickets to Axxess so they say they're going to try to cop them somewhere. Good luck to them, I say. We walk up the road towards the Skydome, passing the Canadian Broadcasting Company building and the adjacent Glenn Gould Theater. I see the famous statue of Glenn Gould on a park bench and take a snapshot of it. After trying a couple of packed places we settle on Planet Hollywood. Hingst, knowing of both my interest in import beers and my reluctance to get shitfaced, introduces me to an Indian pale ale called Alexander Keith's. Pretty good. Travis and Matt come in and announce that they've copped tickets for Axxess. Great! Some pics are taken of us mugging at the bar, and we dine on the food there and take in the atmosphere. Where the eight of us are sitting, they have in glass cases props and memorabilia from Titanic (nothing used by the lead actors), The Flintstones (John Goodman's bowling outfit and a couple of prop pterodactyl drumsticks), and Strange Brew (a case and bottles of Elsinore beer). I have their version of cheese tortellini, real good stuff. One of the guys sees Al Snow walk in and we all turn around. Pamer takes his camera and goes to shoot Al, who presents a pose more worthy of Vogue magazine than of a WWF Hardcore champion. I try to follow as do some other fans but Al gets out of dodge and runs upstairs. Not long after that, Maven comes in and Pamer follows him into the W.C. and asks him if he has any plans for tomorrow night's show. Maven tells Pamer he's booked in a hardcore title match against Al Snow.

Once we settle our checks (driving the waitress into a minor frenzy because we forgot to tell her "separate checks"), we commandeer two taxis and head for the convention center where Axxess is being held. We get in without having to wait in line, having deliberately missed it thanks to our collective peckishness. Once there, we all arrange to meet at the end of the show in front of the building and plan our next move. We split up and I start trolling the building to see what can be had and done. I check out the area where they are selling action figures and displaying the new nWo figures. I scan these aisles but unfortunately there are no solo Lita figures to be had, just a "Famous Scenes" combo pack with her and Test, aaarrrggghh! I say fuck it and head for the mini arena where Vince McMahon is giving a speech in the middle of the ring, take a couple of snaps with my digital still camera the best I can, and decide to try to cop a few T-shirts and hats at the merchandise booth. I get both Wrestlemania shirts (the one with the nWo logo "spray painted" on it and the one with the pic of Hogan and the Rock facing each other) and Tazz's new Thug Superstar shirt. At a trading card booth, I get my hands on several Lita cards in lieu of not finding a little plastic figure of Ms. Dumas' likeness. I walk up to the balcony where they're having the autograph sessions out of curiosity but there's no indication of who is giving autographs at the moment and no guarantee that you'd get that person's autograph by the time you were close enough in line so I say fuck it and go back downstairs.

I walk past the Fantasy Play-By-Play booth and there's Hingst, Pamer and Alden. Hingst invites me over and I hop the rope and join them. While we wait in line (and it was a long ass wait, about two hours plus), we watch others do their PBP's and plot out our own strategies. Amongst the six matches available were the closing moments of this past year's Royal Rumble (last four entrants), Jericho vs. Maven on Raw, that stupid fucking "gravy boat" women's gimmick match from last Thanksgiving, and Hogan vs. The Ultimate Warrior from the last time Wrestlemania was held in Toronto. Hingst and I decide to pair off for one match while Pamer and Alden do another. They picked the gravy bowl match and we decide on Maven vs. Jericho. Sheldon and I book our vocal spots - I suggest that he does the play-by-play while I do a Paul Heyman/Jesse Ventura type "heel" color commentary. He likes the idea and suggests that as part of my gimmick I rip on him for being Canadian. He also suggests two lines for the performance - one where I ask him where Maven "got those caterpillars on his forehead" and one where I correct him when he refers to the Walls Of Jericho by its old name, The Liontamer. We're tempted to do a variation on one of Joey Styles & Joel Gertner's spots from the much-missed ECW On TNN show (Me, witnessing a hard bump: "What the fuck?!?" Sheldon: "You can't say 'fuck' on television! They'll fine the shit out of us!") but decide not to chance it. We do the PBP and outside of a brief bit of unintended stammering on my part at one point (which ends up fitting the PBP anyway), the performance is pretty professional. When Hingst mentions Jericho driven into the "hard American steel" steps, I respond with, "I didn't think Canadians knew anything about American steel!". When he calls Jericho's finisher as the Liontamer, I reply, "Liontamer? It's the Walls Of Jericho! You Canadians can't get anything right!" Hingst: "Just wait until we build that 40 foot wall on our border and keep you Americans out." It's all in fun, of course - I happen to like Canada; how many times have I been in this country already? This makes the fifth time.

After we finish our tape, I stop Sheldon for a second and give him a quick piece of Deadhead taper etiquette: pop the tab on the tape, I tell him. He agrees. We wait for Pamer and Alden to finish theirs and do the Deadhead taper etiquette thing with them, and decide to leave. The rest of the guys have already bailed for the hotel. We can't get a cab back so since it's only a 15 or 20 minute walk we get our exercise in the brisk March air. We meet up with the rest of the crew, back at ten strong, and plan the real main activity of the evening, the "beaver wash" - Hingst & Pamer slang for a gentleman's club.

We go to The Brass Rail, an establishment that promises "European style" (totally nude) dancing. There's no cover but the drink prices are a tad inflated. We're not there for the drinks, though - we're there for the 125 other attractions that are on the bill. Once in the club, we line up in front of the bar. A blonde dancer sides up to Freakboy and Hingst. A few moments of pleasantries and chatter, and the blonde leads Freakboy to one of the rooms. A sweet-looking and very pretty Black female named Shanice (?) catches my eye and after a few moments of small talk of our own, she leads me to one of the rooms by the hand. She sits me down and ask me to take my jacket off, sits on my lap fully clothed and engages me in a little small talk. "Are you in town for Wrestlemania?" Shanice asks. I say yes. "Who do you want to see?" "Lita, one of the female wrestlers," I reply. Shanice pulls a bandana out of her purse and lays it on my lap, and the lap dance - my very first - commences. Lots of seductive moves from this fine Black beauty, a couple of hugs and a (silicone-free) boob wash, and she stops. "Another song?" she asks. Absolutely! Shanice is singing along to a some of the songs while she does her thing. After four songs - none of which I will ever hear the same way again, and all the better - I thank her, tell her that she was my first ever lap dancer ("Awwww!", she replies) and give her a well-earned tip. We leave the room and since I can't find any of the other guys I wait back at the bar. After several minutes of watching the dancers on stage, another dancer who's name I can't remember (Yvonne?) chats me up. Since this will probably be my only time at one of these places, especially in a country where total nudity is allowed in them, I accept her advances and am taken to enjoy another private performance. Yvonne tells me during her performance that she sensed some rather mellow vibes from me. Why, thank you. She touches one of my pecs and asks if I've been working out. Yvonne's performance differentiates from Shanice's when at one point, she nibbles on one of my earlobes! Unexpected, but not unwelcomed. I get my fill of Yvonne after three tunes, thank her, and give her the $60 she earned.

After having two fine naked bodies in a row, I decide to take a break and get a soda. A few more dancers try to proposition me. I tell all of them politely and sweetly that I just had two in a row and need to take a break. Politeness in, sweetness out - none of them had any problem with this response. During all this, I realize in part what the attraction to these establishments are - men get to get the tables turned and have women hit on them rather than the other way around. This I found rather amusing, especially considering how corny some of the ladies' pickup lines sounded in retrospect. ("Hi. I'm Starr. Want to see my star patch?"). Meanwhile, Freakboy seems to have gotten a less professional stripper than I did, because she apparently didn't know when to stop (or more likely, didn't stop when she was supposed to - after every song. Freakboy had to run to an ATM across the street to settle his bill with the dancer. After a few more minutes I decide to succumb to "temptation" one more time when another Black beauty and I catch each other's eyes. This one goes right for the "Hi, what's your name, are you here for Wrestlemania?" line right off and starts to rub at one of my nipples through my t-shirt. Sold. We're just about to go to an upstairs room (after she assures me that the per-song price doesn't change, it's just another room less crowded) when Sheldon passes by and asks if I'm ready to leave. Aaaarrrggghh! You Canadians can't get anything right! Just kidding, Sheldon. I apologize to this very understanding young lady, kiss her hand goodbye and reluctantly leave.

While we wait for Scott to find his way out of the W.C. (the lines there were apparently longer than for the dancers!), a homeless guy is trying to hit us up for spare change. Most of the guys try to ignore him, so since he figures out that we just got out of the strip club, he goes through a whole Luther Campbell "pussy ain't nothing but meat on a bone" rap. I tell him that that just earned him a looney (one-dollar coin). He thanks us and leaves us alone. Scott comes back out and we take cabs back to the hotel and call it a night. Speaking of, I'd better do that.

3.17.02 3:00 am Happy St. Patrick's Day. Short but sweet diary entry, no frills. Ready? Go. Wake up, have breakfast, normal morning routine, dress, check e-mail. I hear familiar voices outside the door and stick my head out. Travis says him, Matt, Scott and Freakboy are gonna go to the Eaton Centre for some shopping, would I like to come along? I say absolutely. The one place I haven't been to yet is HMV, the biggest record chain in Canada, and there's one there. I bring my video camera with me. We start our journey by entering the subway via one of the underground malls in the Royal Park Hotel, a few feet from the "Stankonia". We arrive at the Eaton Centre and the first stop is at a luggage store for Sting7 and Matt, one of whom needs a new suitcase for all the new clothes they bought over the weekend. We find HMV and I am combing the racks. I find a few Tea Party things - the limited tour edition of Triptych, their new best-of Illumination and its DVD counterpart - and some techno mixed CD's that I haven't seen anywhere in the States. Sweet. We walk through the mall for awhile. Scott wants to find something for his daughter back home so we walk into a Disney store. I forget what Scott found, but up at the counter they have Winnie The Pooh and friends beanie dolls where Pooh & Company are dressed as professional wrestlers. Scott picks up a Pooh and I get the Eeyore. We're doing wrestler imitations with these dolls - Scott does Booker T with his Pooh and I have Eeyore doing his version of Diamond Dallas Page's current line. Imagine Eeyore in his trademark monotone going, "It's me. It's me. It's E-E-Y-O-R-E."

We walk out of the front of the Eaton Centre to find that the St. Patrick's Day parade is in full swing. Out comes my DV and I capture some of the moments, including one of Canada's gold medal winners (a high point) and a U2 "tribute" consisting of four dorks miming with hockey sticks to "Where The Streets Have No Name". We walk around the corner and find a pub called the Duke Of Richmond, where we convene for a light lunch and pints of Guinness. A curling game is on one of the TVs there and Matt says he can't understand the game at all. Don't feel bad, bro, a lot of Americans don't understand it either. When we finish our food and pay our bills, Freakboy walks out of the pub to see a little more of the parade but runs back in. "Who's got a camera?!?", he asks. I follow him out and he runs to a young lady dressed head to toe as a pint of Guinness. I preserve the pose on the DV (I'll have to figure out how to get a screen cap later) and we meet up with Travis and Matt. Back through the Eaton Centre, through the subway, and we reconvene at Club H&P. Sheldon wants to get some more drinks for the afterparty and Freakboy and I come along. We walk into a building across the street from the Royal York that has a government liquor store inside. Sheldon gets Molson Canadian (Travis' request) and Steam Whistle, a Toronto-made, Heineken-like brew. Freakboy gets Guinness. I get Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade. Back to the hotel, we ice the drinks and head for the Skydome.

As we get closer to the venue, we're hearing a lot of fans approaching the venue, yelling "What?" at scalpers and cops. I ask Sheldon what the French word for "What?" is. He says it's "Ce qui?" So some of us start to yell "Ce qui?" up the rest of the way to the Skydome. Once at the venue, we look for our gates (mine was gate 11), and it's a rather lengthy wait. Some dim bulb in a Godsmack T-shirt near me says, "This is fucking bullshit, how long does it take to tear a stub off a ticket?" Apparently, he's forgotten that there's a little something called a security check that everyone goes through at major sporting events. I manage to get inside around 7:20. I try to get to another merch booth to try for the Triple H and nWo shirts that they didn't have at Axxess, but most of them are already sold out in XL. Damn!

I find my seat and it's next to Chuck and Mark's seats. Cool. The vantage point on the first level of the Skydome is good for watching but shitty for picture taking unless you want to take pics of one of the video screens.

When Hogan vs. Rock goes off, we are shocked to see that the babyface Rock is getting booed and heel Hogan is getting cheered. Ce qui? The reaction to the matches up until this point was strong for the finishes and certain points, and loud golf claps for the rest of the spots. We attribute this to the size of the venue itself. From our vantage point, the performances of both Saliva and Drowning Pool sucked. Neither band could play nor did they make any bones about it. A lot of people got up to piss or get refreshments when Drowning Pool was playing their first song. Being in a venue not conducive to live music didn't help.

We saw some people get up and leave after the Hogan/Rock match. That blew my mind. With two more matches to go including Helmsley/Jericho for the titles, you're going to leave and not get your money's worth? What was the point of your getting the tickets in the first place, then?

After the show, the three of us walked back to the venue. Unfortunately, it's raining a little. Fortunately, we're all wearing hats. Back at the Stankonia, the afterparty commences in Hingst & Pamer's room until about 3 in the morning, which is when I leave. Why? Because I want to get this diary entry in quick and get some sleep. Reluctantly, I have to go back home to Pennsylvania in about eight hours.

3.18.02 11:30 pm. The Breaking Kayfabe Compound. I miss my friends and the city of Toronto already. First excuse I get, I'm going back to T.O. Pennsylvania sucks. Enough said.

(Author's closing note: Yes, I am planning to release WMX8 to the public in some form later this year. Please e-mail me to get updates!)