There are wrestlers who win titles. There are wrestlers who main-event pay-per-views. And then there’s Hydra—Chikara’s very own froggy underdog, technicolor cultist, and aquatic sidekick-turned-existential comedy act. A man (or creature?) of many faces, personas, and tag teams, Hydra didn’t just toe the line between absurdity and brilliance—he did a cannonball off it.
This is the saga of Andrew Dinsmore: the man behind the gills, the soul inside the suit, and the professional wrestler who once lost his mask and revealed the secret identity of… Leslie Butterscotch. Yes, that really happened.
The Neo-Solar Genesis: From Greenhorn to Green-Skinned Devotee
Hydra emerged from the mysterious stew that was Chikara Pro in 2005, debuting as a rudo—because let’s face it, a baby-faced merman doesn’t scream menace unless he’s in a Disney cartoon. Teamed up with UltraMantis Black (Chikara’s patron saint of eyebrow-arched villainy), Hydra quickly became a loyal protégé, following his gothic cult leader into madness, mayhem, and occasionally, matches that made no earthly sense.
In 2006, he helped form The Order of the Neo-Solar Temple—which sounds like a prog rock band but was, in fact, a faction of mystical malcontents including Crossbones, a man whose neck was rumored to be wider than most indie show venues. Hydra, in his skin-tight teal gear and aquatic mask, resembled a cross between Creature from the Black Lagoon and a failed Power Rangers villain.
Their highlights? Beating The Colony, feuding with Incoherence (a team of a lizard-man and a guy who spoke gibberish), and, most importantly, kidnapping a concussed Tim Donst and inducting him into the Temple. For Hydra, that was just another Tuesday.
The Sea Donsters: Tag Team Glory in a Kiddie Pool of Chaos
Ah yes, The Sea Donsters. The loveable aquatic duo no one asked for—but everyone needed.
When Donst turned on the Temple (because being brainwashed by UltraMantis Black apparently didn’t come with dental), Hydra shockingly sided with him. The two struck out on their own, forming a tag team built on two things: salty sea-based puns and babyface charm so wholesome it made Saturday morning cartoons look like Game of Thrones.
They battled The Order. They fought Incoherence. They challenged for titles and lost in heart-wrenching main events. Hydra, once the masked henchman, was now front and center—flopping valiantly against the tide of stronger, scarier opponents. Think if Kermit the Frog joined D-Generation X and still tried to do the right thing.
It couldn’t last. It didn’t. Donst, perhaps tired of carrying a tag partner whose gimmick was “wrestling fish man,” snapped in 2009. After losing one too many times, he dumped Hydra like yesterday’s seafood platter. Their feud culminated in a Loser Leaves Chikara match, where Hydra was sent packing—gills and all.
Cue the sad trombone.
The Butterscotch Chronicles: Wrestling’s First Postmodern Meltdown
Like all great wrestling tragedies, Hydra’s story didn’t end in one company. No, it spiraled into the indie ether, where he evolved—devolved?—into Kenny Butterscotch, and later simply Leslie. And with him came the Flavors of the Week, a tag team that sounded like a Baskin-Robbins gimmick and looked like your theater camp classmates got into your wrestling gear.
His matches in Ring of Honor? Blink and you’d miss them. Jobbing to the American Wolves. Teaming with Orange Cassidy before sloth-style offense was en vogue. Leslie Butterscotch was less a character than a performance art piece—half irony, half sincerity, all meta.
In 2012, alongside Avery Boysenberry (yes, seriously), they formed The Flames of Love and began starring in their own web series Flavors of the Weak. It was a wrestling sitcom with layers—portraying themselves as guys playing themselves as guys playing wrestlers.
Inception, but with more glitter.
They washed cars. Threw parties. Struggled to “make it” in a business that had long stopped trying to make sense. And just like that, they were gone—flaming out as fast as they’d flared up. But for a moment? They were the best absurdist comedy in pro wrestling outside of any match Joey Ryan ever ruined.
The Mask Comes Off: Resurrection and Revelation in LVAC
And then… Hydra returned.
In 2021, like some deep-sea eldritch horror who just wanted to work the merch table again, he surfaced in Lehigh Valley Apparel Creations. This time, older, wiser, and a little more doughy around the dorsal fin, he found himself feuding with heel commissioner Chris Reject. It was low-key, lo-fi wrestling at its best—part vaudeville, part backyard brawl, all heart.
He even formed The Mighty Seamen (yes, wrestling really is just one long dad joke) with Billy Avery in Pro Wrestling Explosion. But the real turning point came in 2022—when LVAC booked a Lucha de Apuestas 10-person tag match.
Hydra. Mask on the line. Legacy at stake. Teaming with his old pal UltraMantis Black and others against a team that included Gran Akuma and CPA (because who doesn’t want to fight a wrestling accountant?).
And he lost.
The mask came off.
Hydra was… Leslie Butterscotch all along.
Wrestling fans gasped, cried, and Googled “Who is Leslie Butterscotch?” simultaneously. In that moment, kayfabe died and was reborn into a bizarre little man with enough self-awareness to make it all okay.
Legacy: Beneath the Mask, the Madness Made Sense
Hydra never held a major title. He never made the PWI 500’s top 490. His finishing move was probably a poorly timed splash.
But he was a symbol—for weirdos, misfits, and indie darlings who never fit into Vince McMahon’s sweaty steroid template. He took a goofy gimmick and made it work. He embraced the absurd and made it art. He was a fish out of water in every promotion—and that’s exactly where he thrived.
In a business full of alpha males trying to out-growl each other, Hydra smiled, flopped, and made you laugh. And maybe—just maybe—he made you feel something more.
Andrew Dinsmore, Hydra, Leslie Butterscotch: a man of many names, but always himself.
And in wrestling, that’s rarer than gold.