The following is a transcript recovered from an interview with former RIT President, William Wrestler.

So, what have you been up to since your retirement?

It has been tough. I loved the job, and I miss it, but I've been filling my days in other ways. [At this point, Wrestler grabs a vape out of his pocket and takes a long drag. He exhales the smoke out of his mouth and nostrils simultaneously.] I’ve been checking out a lot of YouTube channels, practicing my vape tricks. The kids call that one the “dragon’s breath.”

How do you think President Munchkin has been doing in your old position?

It's a tough job, but he seems up to the task. It must be hard for him, though — especially with a night job like his.

Not sure what you mean, but moving on. Did you give Munchkin any advice when he took the job?

I told him don't ever stand near a picture of Lord Voldemort. If people start making that association his cover is blown. You better hope those Quidditch nerds aren't just throwing around foam balls, but practicing some spells and shit. I'm genuinely concerned.

Wait a minute, you cannot actually believe President Munchkin is Lord Voldemort.

Listen, twerp, this Munchkin guy is a giant. I told the Trustees, but they wouldn't listen. I asked them, "You realize who else is tall, right?" But they just ignored me. [Wrestler takes another drag of his vape.]

I don’t trust a man over six feet.

I mean, yeah, he’s tall, but that doesn't mean he is You-Know-Who.

Get this straight, you gormless goon, David Munchkin is Lord-[expletive]-Volde-[expletive]-mort.

Wrestler, sir?

Don't sir me, you apple-faced [expletive]. This Munchkin dude, he is a big [expletive] Voldemort turd. Think about it. He started a company called InstaRecon. Sounds like some Big Brother spying shit to me. Come on, he’s Voldemort. Plain and simple. Now, I wasn't ever a cop-type, if you know what I mean, but it’s obvious what’s going on here.

[Wrestler takes a long drag from his vape.] Have you seen Munch-turd rap? He has NO BARS. He tried dropping a couple singles at the University of Michigan, but they all flopped. Promotional or not, he has no game. What kind of RIT President doesn’t have musical talent? That shit was a Voldemort-ass rap. He can't rap, but he thinks he is going to teach engineering students to play piano or some shit. I had the banjo! The banjo was [expletive] rad.

Now, I wasn’t like other Presidents. I was a cool President. I got up to some shit. You might not know this, you cankle sore, but I got weird. You know those bubbles in the fountain every year? Yeah that was me, just really [expletive] with FMS! You remember the bear loose on campus? Yeah you guessed it, butthead. That was me, too. [Puff.] And those orange bikes? That was my idea! [Puff.] And Munchkin firing Dr. Kont? That was [expletive] stupid! [Puff] This is good stuff; you want a hit? [Puff.]

Oh, and RITchie? [Wrestler’s eyes begin to tear up.] Poor, poor RITchie. [Wrestler takes a final, tear-filled drag.] Do you think he misses me? [Wrestler storms off, leaving only the bloodied parking ticket that fell out of his pocket as he did so. It read: "The Society."]