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The name is Edwin Fogarty. I used to be an investigative reporter for the L.A. PICAYUNE. And, for me, it all began a week before Christmas Eve, 2004.

You see, I had imbibed a little too much "holiday spirit" at the office Christmas party. As a result? While driving home, my car ran off the road and head on into somebody's Nativity creche!

That nobody flesh-and-blood got killed was a minor Christmas miracle. The fact that the creche was on the front lawn of a Los Angeles city councilman, however, cost me $2,000; a two-year suspension of my driver's license; and court-ordered membership in the Twelve Steps program.

That's where I met "Ted."

He had been born Fyodor Sergeivitch Ivanov. And, in 1968, he had attended the Mexico City Olympics as a weight-lifter. He was expected to bring home a gold medal in the event. But, he chose to defect, instead!

A year later, he was appearing in both movies and the wrestling ring as that champion luchador, "El Carbonado" ("The Black Diamond").

It was a pseudonym he wore, and a responsibility he bore, quite proudly for fifteen years. That is; until some schlockmeister movie studio in Hollywood conned him into signing away all his rights to the name!

They had told him they were going to make an action-adventure film by that name. And, that Sybil Danning would be playing the title role (as sort of a cross between Indiana Jones and Modesty Blaise). But, guess what? The film never got made. And, Ted had to find himself a new identity.

So, he joined the WWF as "Biff Stroganov (the Psychotic Cossack)."

Unfortunately, he had recently fallen on hard times. After the death of his wife of twenty years, he took to drowning his sorrows in vodka. Which gave his employers no choice but to issue an ultimatum. Join Twelve Steps, or get out!

We got assigned to each other by the guy who ran our meetings. And, pretty soon, everyone else who attended them started calling us "Ted and Ned." Especially as we started going to the nearest Starbuck's after each meeting.*

* Say what you will about their prices. Their stuff still tastes better than that caffinated _horse-piss_ they serve at the meetings.

Then, it happened. Ted missed three meetings in a row.
Worried that he might have fallen off the wagon, I went over to his Venice Beach apartment. And, my worry only increased when the landlord told me that Ted had gone out one day...and never came back!

tbc
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