Dear Randy Orton,

I understand you hurt your shoulder. JR told us to send you an e-mail, so I am. Far be it from me to question his Hoss-like wisdom.

I hope you are able to rehab your shoulder and make a speedy return. I must be honest with you though, I’m not looking forward to your return because I particularly enjoy watching you wrestle. Rather, I’m hoping you come back too early and reinjure your shoulder in the middle of a match, causing it to explode into a crimson cloud of blood, cartilage and bone chips.

You know what would be great? If a particularly large and sharp piece of bone shrapnel were to fly into the audience with enough velocity to instantly kill the Make-a-Wish kid who was stupid enough to waste his final request on ringside seats for a shitty WWF event.

You know what would be even better? If you were wrestling Triple H, preferably in mid-move, when your shoulder exploded, so instead of returning him to the ground in a safe fashion, you drop him directly onto his head, killing him instantly.

Scratch that. I don’t want him to die instantly. I want him to die slowly in a hospital bed, seething with anger as he watches RVD and Chris Jericho main event a WWF pay-per-view. I want him to pray for the icy embrace of death as he lies in a man-diaper full of his own filth, watching RVD and Jericho tear the house down to a standing ovation.

The more that I think about it Randy, I guess I don’t really want your shoulder to explode. After all, you are related to former WWF jobber and “Pat Patterson Penis Port” Barry O. No, I suppose my anger is misplaced. It’s Triple H I want to see harmed, not you.

In retrospect, the Make-a-Wish kid doesn’t need to die from a boney projectile launched from your shoulder either. If he picked a WWF event as his final request, he does deserve to die, but we’ll let the cancer take care of that.

As long as Triple H dies, I’ll be happy. It doesn’t need to be from a bad bump. (Don’t misunderstand me though. If you are interested in dropping Triple H on his head, don’t let me stop you.) I really don’t care how he dies. The reaper could visit Triple H through any of the following scenarios:

• Bad clam from the raw bar that rips through his system like a guided missile
• Volkswagen-sized meteorite that falls from the sky, reducing him to a pile of meat
• Unidentified disease that only kills him and cute little baby monkeys from the zoo
• Devoured by a great white shark that sees him frolicking in the surf with Stephanie and mistakes them for a pair of wounded sea cows

Anyway Randy, I won’t waste any more of your time. I apologize for wanting your shoulder to explode. I hope you make a swift return to the squared circle.

Warmest regards,

NormanB

PS- Tell your Uncle Barry to give me a call. If he still lives in Vegas, I have a friend he simply must meet.