Juan Shan: Damn, dawg dis **** be lookin' fly as a muh ****uh on my pimp ass!
From the entrance to the VIP area, Christy and Tiffany and be seen dragging Playboy through the doors. His burgundy robe tears away as it catches on a hook from the nearly shattered door.
Playboy: No! I don't want to go to the death pit!
Christy: It's not a death pit! It's a damn fighting arena!
Tiffany: Just calm down, Playboy! Look! Juan Shan is right there. You know... the guy you're fighting.
Playboy stops struggling with the two women, lights some tobacco packed tightly in his pipe, and measures up The King of New York. Smirking while doing so, he removes the wooden pipe from his lips.
Playboy: Well then... you don't look all that bad.
Juan Shan: Say dawg, what you be havin' in dat pipe?
Playboy: Tobacco. Marijuana is for losers. Sheesh... typical n-
Juan Shan: Hol' up, lil' daddy. I know you wasn't 'bout to say some **** bad at my race, dawg. Cuz if dat be da case, I could just murk yo' ass right now and skip da lil' fight later...
Playboy: Yeah, because you look totally dangerous with that aluminum suit on... idiot.
Juan Shan: Dawg, dis **** be weighin' like thirty pounds, fool. So befo' you be jumpin' to conclusions and what not, remember dat one forearm could knock yo' ass out!
Christy: Right. Well, how about we stop before this gets too serious, go to our own little waiting areas, and settle this in the middle of the Coliseum later?
Tiffany: I think that's the right choice. I don't feel like Playboy's blood being splattered on me right now...
Playboy: What!? I'll have you know, I'm a fighting legend. I've been in so many fights...
Juan Shan: Dawg, you look like you been pampered all yo' life by silver spoons and ****. Me, I been through da hood in Chi-Town, ya heard me?
Playboy: So you grew up on the mean streets of Illinois? *snicker* *smokes pipe*
Juan Shan: So you is sayin' dat you got some fight skills? Tell me yo' story, and I'll be decidin'...
Playboy: Well it goes a little something like this...
Playboy's Flashback...
