On casual Friday you come to work in red pajamas with a mask on. Everywhere you go you terrify the shit out of the public, intentionally or unintentionally (it doesn't really matter). You're a gigantic lurking behemoth who bought into the creepiest wrestler of the decade. If you ever opted to get back into the sport, hopefully it wasn't at this year's Summerslam where it seemed to be implied that the Wyatts had their way with Kane backstage. It's hard to think of him as the personification of evil when a family of hillfolk are running a train on his ass.