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Three hours after what has been called the greatest match in the history of wrestling, Jerry Flynn and the Bossman stood outside the empty Silverdome, reflecting on Life, the Universe and Everything (they are both Douglas Adams fans).
�I think that God is a nasty bastard,� the Bossman said.
�You are too cynical, Ray. You need to take it easy sometime,� Jerry Flynn replied, �why don�t we get a couple of girls, take the Concord to Paris and have a couple drinks at the Moulin Rouge?�
�That sounds pretty faggoty, Jerry.�
��Moulin Rouge� is French for �red blood�. They serve the rarest steaks in Europe there.�
�Why the hell not. Do they have them shoestring potatoes?�
�Sure, and they have the finest wines in Europe.�
�Long as they have some vodka.�
Flynn and the Bossman took a simple taxi to the airport and Flynn chartered the Concord on the way there by phone. A crowd of beautiful young women gathered as they walked towards the terminal. The Bossman picked out two nice ones that happened to have their passports with them (one was supposed to be going on her honeymoon). Flynn picked out two himself.
Flynn arranged for a tailor to accompany them on the flight and make them some custom tuxedos. He was very talented and was able to complete the two tuxedos in the three hours it took to get to Paris, with the help of his five assistants. Flynn arranged for some designer dresses to be ready at the airport for the four girls, and they got dressed right in the middle of the terminal.
Then on to the Moulin Rouge. The Bossman ordered a Vox martini with a lemon peel, which he sniffed and rolled around on his tongue. It was deemed acceptable. Then, a drunk Japanese businessman spilled his raspberry margarita on the Bossman�s white on white tuxedo. It was time for the Bossman�s Revenge.
Bossman said, �I�d like it if you�d step OUTSIDE with me, boy.� �Oh, my God! You�re not Zaphod Beetlebrox, are you?�
�Huh? Get your ass OUTSIDE, boy.�
As soon as he got OUTSIDE, the Japanese businessman composed himself. His eyes rolled back in his head and percured the ancient stance of the dreaded Ninja. Traylor, confident after a victory over one of the world�s greatest martial artists, took out his weapon of choice: the nightstick.
The ninja tossed three poisoned tipped shurikens at Bossman, which he deftly blocked with two swings of his nightstick. A haggard young man jumped out of nowhere, screaming, �you killed DI! Aaaauuughhhh!� One of the shurikens deflected off the nightstick and hit the young fan in the forehead, killing him instantly.
The ninja said, �I see you have the Divine Power.� �The vine what?� Bossman said, �You�re going to pay Hard Time!�
Bossman connected several times with nightstick strikes, but the ninja got in a lucky kick to the temple. Jerry Flynn walked out just then and said, �heh, heh. You�re getting your ass kicked by that skinny little Japanese guy.�
This infuriated the Bossman, who threw his nightstick at the ninja with deadly accuracy. His decapitated head rolled down the hill, where it was carried off by a stray dog. �What is it with you and decapitating people,� the drunk Flynn said.
�Well, he�s serving Hard Time now. IN HELL!�
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