Crikey, if those marks keep buying that book, I'm gonna wind up living DiBiase's gimmick... Hey, Nameless Accountant, how much have I made off that book already?

352.8 million dollars, not counting the personal appearances... You're also tops on the 'comedy' charts, nudging off the latest Dilbert book... It's remarkable.

How about the time I spend in the STWF?

....I kinda put that down as a write-off.

Uh huh... No money there, then?

If you count the appearances you turned down so you could appear in STWF, then they've COST you over 28 million.

But we write that off, correct?

Yes.

So, I guess, we technically MADE 28 million in the STWF...

Technically...? No. We just don't LOSE it, since I claim it as a business expense for tax-purposes... Every major corporation needs some sinkhole to burn cash in.

Why?

In layman's terms, pissing cash down the crapper is considered 'stimulating the economy', and Uncle Sam covers it to keep up appearances...

I see... But, I'm a mass-murdering psychopath... I kinda thought I wasn't allowed to profit from my crimes. Hey, Nameless Lawyer, how am I making money on the book?

ahem... Well, it IS true that you can't make any profit from your crimes, per se...

OOO! Latin! Spiffy!

Your book in no way describes any of the methods used on your victims...

Well, it's pretty hard to fill out three hundred pages with 'tearing them limb from limb with your bare hands', but I digress....

....Right. Nor do you mention any of your victims by name.

Like I can remember all those...

Exactly... Mind you, we did have to fight an injunction levied by the Victim's Fund that gets the revenue from your wrestling related merchandise and appearances...

From the STWF?

No,  the SUCCESSFUL feds you've been in...

That I'm not allowed to mention?

Right.

Fine. Okay, you lot can skedaddle, I have to catch up on the Flash... You guys in the trailer can cut to a commercial...

Hello, my intended....

This is your old pal, Bobo Fiendish, and I'm here at Oprah Winfrey's house  to talk to you - and HER on behalf of the Beef and Cattle Industry... Now you might remember, Oprah had said some VERY bad things about beef, and then got public opinion behind her with some stupid rape story to dodge the slander suit... Normally, such people as would do so callow a thing are destined to come to a bad end... However, since the Beef Industry hired ME, I'm guessing they want the process nudged along a bit... This pleases me... Lemme just ring this here bell...

(Ding-Dong!)

Steddman: Hello? Who is it?

Hi! We were wondering if Oprah would care to come to an award show?

Steddman: Award Show?

Certainly! I represent the Afrocentric Cultural Achievements Through Staggering Commercial Failures Society, and we wanted to know if she'd like to recieve our lifetime achievement award?

Steddman: For what?

Beloved, among others...

Steddman: She'll be right out....

Excellent! Now, all I need to do is get this triple-extra-hefty burlap sack ready...

Oprah: Hello! You said you wanted to give me an award...?

Oh, yes... You're going to get EVERYTHING you deserve. Heh.

Oprah: I'm so touched. To think, after all the slings and arrows levelled at me by the critics, I should... WHOA! Hey! Mmph!

Yadda yadda yadda.... Quit struggling, Chunky Trunks, we're taking a trip!

(Cut to Calcutta, India)

Out you go, Heifer-Titi...

Oprah: Of all the nerve! Where have you brought me?

Just showing you a world where nobody eats beef, just like you wanted. Look at the healthy specimens here...

Oprah: My God, this is INDIA!

Yeah. Gold star for you! Notice the deplorable condition of the populace... Note the starving, crippled beggars that have nothing to eat...

Oprah: This is horrible!

I know! Now observe yonder fine moo-type critter. Note how she just wanders around and eats things, while the people here waste away? Hey, Bossie....

Moooo.

Come here a sec... Uncle Bobo wants to play a little game witcha....

Moooo.

Atta girl... See this? It's called an AXE.

Mooooo!

Time to serve your PURPOSE! C'mere! You can't escape!

NooooO! Noooo! N-

(WHONK!)

Oprah: You sick, twisted MONSTER! Don't you know the cow is SACRED here!

Guess that makes you GOD, huh?  Back in the sack with you, your highness...

Oprah: HEY! OooF!

(Cut to a meeting of the American Vegan Society)

Vegan: Hey! You can't come in here! Ouch! My spine!

One side, you pasty little cretin! Carnivore coming through! Lemme just get up here on the stage, and let the fat out of the bag....

Oprah: Listen, just let me go... I'm rich. I can pay...

Oh, you'll PAY, don't worry about THAT. Now look at this guy... C'mere, Cudmiffin....

Vegan #2: HEY! Ouch! Lemme go!

Note the pasty yellow-tinged pallor of this hapless dummitz, no doubt due to an over-consumption of carrots... Note the skinny little body, draped loosely with cotton-poly tie-dye... Note also the plastic flip-flops, common amongst such melvins. You'll NEVER see a Veg-Boy over two-thirty - at least not one that JUST eats veggies... Now note myself... Three hundred thirty-five pounds of steel-cable cut, rock solid MIGHTY. You know WHY? I get my USRDA of USDA Prime Cut.

Vegan #2: But meat in general, and beef in particular, is bad for you... High in cholesterol... Fat...

Shaddap! Don't you know GOD gave man DOMINION over the beasts of the earth?

Vegan #2: I'm an atheist. I don't believe in God.

Really? Let's put that theory to the test.... Lemme put your elbow behind your head for a sec...

Vegan #2: ARGH!

Now, let's put your foot betwixt your shoulderblades....

Vegan #2: AAAAGH!

Now, let's put yer other arm where your leg used to be...

Vegan #2: AAAAAAAA! PLEASE STOP! Oh, GOD, the PAIN! I can't STAND the PAIN!

Hey! You said you didn't believe in God... Shame on you!

Oprah: Stop it! You're KILLING him!

Shaddap! I'm just giving the poor dink a chance to prove he has the courage of his convictions... Hey, Wabbit...

Vegan #2: Sweet Jesus... Please... No MORE...

You FAILED. Sorry. Now we get to play Exorcist... You're Linda  Blair...

Vegan #2: AGH!

(Crunch)

Oops... Guess Alice doesn't live here, anymore.... Heh.

Oprah: You're the DEVIL!

Aww... You GUESSED! That means we need a NEW game... I call this one 'Vitamin C'.... Note this stack of oranges on the table... See how they go in this pillow-case all nice and cozy? Say, did you read my book?

Oprah: Wha-?

Cuz if you did, then this wouldn't be a surprise...

Oprah: Ooof!

Yep. Chapter Four: Imaginative Uses for Household Items... Oranges in a pillowcase make a FINE blunt instrument for a good, old fashioned THRASH, with the added bonus of not leaving a mark on the victim - which would be you....

Oprah: Argh! Agh! Ungh! Stop this, I beg you! Ack!

Quiet! You ASKED for this with yer big, fat mouth... Casting aspersions on the nation's cattle industry... Hurting people for no reason... Sure, beef has it's downsides, but you can usually negate them with a smidge of exercise. Betcha feel pretty STUPID now, huh? Betcha SOMEONE will think TWICE before speaking out of turn on National TV next time, huh? ANSWER ME!

Oprah:..............

Unconscious, huh? Well, then lemme put you into this nice barrel of water to wake you up... Headfirst, of course, or the magic won't work... In you go!

(Dunk!)

Oops. Should've got a bigger drum... Kinda got stuck there... Oh well. Let this be a lesson to all of you folks out there in TV Land... Beef... It's better than the ALTERNATIVES. Heh.

You're Welcome... See you SOON.

Paid for by the National Association of Cattle Ranchers.

TOLD ya we'd get her...

Wow, that was a long commercial, Mr. Fiendish...

Yeah, Kid, but I needed a long one to catch up on all this rot from the Flash...

Ready, then?

Yepper.

Three.... Two.... One...

Hello, my intended.

Well, well, well, how busy the lesser beings have been of late... I suppose I should address several of the issues at hand. First, Herb 'Not Much Time on Earth' Romaine... Are you on CRACK? You want to save my soul? Listen, Peabody, that bit wasn't cool when Jake did it... It wasn't cool when Dustin did it... And it STILL isn't cool. You actually DARE to think such as -I- could be disciple to a Weed Whacker such as YOU? Must... Not... Laugh... I've scraped better than such a pitiful cretin as you will ever ASPIRE to BE  off my BOOT after a subway ride, and you have the GALL to say that MY world has no purpose? Here's a hint, Lambie-Pie, you're supposed to wash the chemicals OFF the vegetables BEFORE you eat them. The Messenger, he says... Baaaaa. HUMBUG. Here's a message for YOU, Sprout. Even GOD prefers Meat... Just ask Cain - when you MEET him.

Now,  next we consider the Wesley of the Geiker Clan... For some reason, he thinks that I'm jealous of him... It is to laugh. Like I would lower myself to living in a garage in the 'BURBS and hanging out at MALLS with AVON on... Listen, kid, I've already told you... Goth is Evil-Lite. Some sort of HOBBY for skinny little suburban dipwads that want to embarrass their PARENTS. Such POSEURS would not know Evil if it punched a PORTHOLE right in the middle of their birdcage CHEST... Which isn't a bad idea, now that I think of it... You want dumpster diving? The cops can do that when they try to find you. Just for reference, you ex-roadie for the Cure, if you stare into the darkest depth of your soul and dredge up what could only be called your ULTIMATE NIGHTMARE and then somehow gave it flesh... It would worship me as its GOD.

Then there's Itty Billy Polar, who has decided to team up with Douja for the new tag team, 'The Bud-Spud Connection'. This pleases me... After all, at least Polar accepted the FACTS regarding his lottery-level chance of being FIT to be in the same ARENA with the likes of the Angel of Death... Most... EXALTED, and has teamed with a suitable partner... I had heard it said in the locker room that only someone blunted out of their mind would CONSIDER hanging out with a career-hobbling gimp like Billy 'Heat Like a Blizzard' Polar... I guess Douja heard it too, or he's just lonely without Neige and Mittens... As a suggestion for a Douja CDC T-Shirt, one could say "Icon Smoke It. Yukon Not." Heh.

This isn't to say that there aren't any true competitors in the STWF... No, clearly not... In fact, as long as I'm here, Der Kommissar will be able to say that the STWF has a grand total of ONE. It's more than Uncle Ted's Cirque du Steroid has, so don't worry about it. All that stands between me and that IG strap are a handful of nose-pickin' Hee Haw extras, and a bunch of other milksops that aren't even THAT good. Even the most fantastically deluded mark could not believe some of the goings-on...  I mean, REALLY, this Sassy Squad wants to be HEEL? Listen, kids, that's NOT what the bookers meant when they said you were GOOD for NOTHING. Sheesh.

Y'know, while you were getting all that money, there have been some new additions to the STWF... Care to comment on the likes of Zilla and Night?

No... Aside from someone - probably Wes - impersonating me on the Flash, I really haven't alot to say on those... I mean, come ON, how many little rookie nothings am I expected to make the fans aware of by derrogating them? They actually put TAPE in the camera when Sexbat talks now... Did he accomplish this with promo cutting skill? No, people are just interesting in seeing when I'm going to kick down his garage door and wring his neck, and they tape his interviews in case they miss that happening while they're in the bathroom - like they USUALLY are when he's on their screen. See, 'Bat, you made a critical error... I didn't have a bad childhood... No. I lived every kid's dream... I was the first kid on my block to be the LAST kid on my block... And several other blocks... And several other neighborhoods... Hey, every kid needs a hobby... Mine was Natural Selection.

See, The brass knows, the fans know, I know and MOST importantly, the squirmy little nimrods in the BACK know I can win the IG belt without even using my Fatali - er - Finisher. But you know what? It won't be the FIRST podunk strap I tacked on the wall... It won't be the last either... And if something happens along the way and I get DQed for something and I don't get to the finals, then it won't be a big problem to put whatever paperweight they DO get to hold the belt for me into a nice box and nail it shut with HIS TEETH. You see... Belts mean that you're considered the best of the lot... This belt would, of course, be a dubious honor to say the least. However, much like when I was a kid, I have no desire to be the best...

What -I- aspire to is MUCH harder,  especially considering the leaps medical science has made...

I want to be the LAST.

When the dust settles and the shattered wasteland that is the tattered remnants of an ENTERTAINMENT business lay in flaming ruin... You marks will be able to get on the newsgroups and claim you knew ONE thing for certain..

-I- held the TORCH.

You're WELCOME... See you SOON.