Juan Shan: So dis is how it has to be. I'm is gonna take some ketchup, put it at da end of my stick, and den ram you in da face. You is gonna act like you is dead so we ain't gotta do dis no mo'.
Playboy: That sounds like a grea-- wait a minute! No! That would mean I lose the fight!
Juan Shan: It's da only way. Any other way, and dis would go on forever, ya feel me?
Christy: He might be right, you know... it really is a good idea. And you would get to live!
Tiffany: But why is it Playboy that has to lose? Why can't he do the opposite of what you suggested, Juan?
Juan Shan: Because it be my idea, ya heard me? Now... we need to be gettin' ready, dawg.
Playboy: No, I really don't like your idea. I mean sure, it's a good one if I were in the position that you are in, but I want to win too! I want to be in the second round of the Bar Room Brawl!
Juan Shan: Dawg, it was my idea, ya heard me? Plus, either way... I would cheat anyway and hit you in da face, ya heard me? Ain't no game up in dis bitch!
Christy: That is messed up! Playboy will win this round of the Bar Room Brawl!
The King of New York nods his head and attatches a packet of ketchup (don't ask where he got it from. You know, maybe he got it from McDonalds or on the airplane to Rome. Did you ever think about that? Hmm? Maybe he keeps ketchup in his pocket!) to the end of his lance.
The venants soon make their way out to the death pit through the gates they exited and entered through previously - both men using a blunt lance, which is for battle - the alternative would be a courtesy. And I know this is totally not what gladiators did, but it's fun to type, ass. Oh, and it is done at modern day American Renaissance festivals, so nyeh!
Jack Knife: Well, they have no horse, but the separating bar is in the middle of the pit...
Hardcore K: Ugh... petty stuff. I, the awesome Hardcore K and un-identical twin of Highland Terror, would be the best at something like this... due to my charisma.
Jack Knife: What? This is a one shot kind of thing...
Dr Kiebler: Oh yays! Exploding chests!
Pazuza: Yes... this shall cement one of them losing and the other advancing to the next round...
Dr Kiebler: Advancing? NO ADVANCE! ALL PAIN! OH YAYS! PAIN!
Both men take their respective spots as
the gates slide down once more and lock.
The Final Strike...
