The scene opens up today with Dorito sitting at the kitchen table, typing away at his new thinkpad laptop. He suddenly gets a thought as he stops typing, and looks around, noticing it's relatively quiet in the place.

Dorito: Alicia?

No sound at all as Dorito sits for a few seconds.

Dorito: Must still be out, oh well. No one here to try cramming damn protein shakes down my throat just because of some pay-per view. I'm not going to do a bunch of last second extra crap for some tournament. I don't care about the world title, all I want is Matt Helmsley in the finals to fight until he can no longer go on, and people are pushing me back while a doctor declares he's dead. But that's not good enough cause if supposedly people have a soul, then Matt doesn't die, he simply escapes for the time being. It can't go that way. There will be no escape. The triangle will break, it will shatter, it will disentigrate, and it will vaporize. And if I can't get Matt, then it better be Pain Express, and I will prove to him, me, everyone that I can beat the farmboy, the wrestler. No extras D, you've done this before. If you bulk up and get into the crap that everyone does, it'll backfire on you and you know forever that you cheated to get the title.

Peccant is gonna bulk up on everything he can, because it's Peccant. Almost four hundred pounds of steel muscle going face to face with a runaway train. A train that can jump off the rails if it needs to, but he won't. Not sunday night. Pain Express could claim to be the only wrestler here in NC...I mean WWCWF, involved in this tournament. But of course for some reason no one gives a damn about my two years of amateur in high school in Germany...Germany. In Asia and Eastern Europe, wrestling is the national sport. If you're a wrestler, amateur or pro, you're at the same level of Vin Diesel or Mikey Jordan here in the US. Ever wonder why it really was a big thing when Kurt Angle won the olympics in '96? Or in 2000 when the montana farmboy beat the unbeatable Russian for the gold? In Germany being good enough to just be in the top five of your weight class in your district is like being a state champion here in the US. Ever wonder why no one really gives a damn about the sport unless you win? Because winning is the ONLY thing. This is what I'm coming to New Orleans for. And you know what Pain? I finished near the bottom of the class in my sophomore year. From there I decided I had to work at it, and I went to dojos to learn to work better. You know what I got my junior year? Fourth. I improved so much in one year, but that was five years ago, and I've done nothing but work more to being number one. I didn't do it my senior year because I was in WWCWF at the time, spending time with Sonic during the winter here in the US, going town to town with him, rather than back in Dusseldorf. So Pain, if you can get past Peccant, and I'm sure you will because you never know when the old man might fall asleep and take a nap for a little while, say three seconds? Fight the old man who takes credit for being the last intercontinental champion in WWCWF?

Did you ever beat Freytag for that belt, Peccant? No. He got suspended and stripped, and you won the belt on the last show in a tournament. Remember that? You never defended the belt a single time. And of all your time in WWCWF and claiming yourself to be amongst the great, that was the only thing you ever won. And the next day it meant nothing at all. Nothing. The fed closed and that was that. For two seconds you were something, and then you were nothing. What else did you do in WorldWide? Right, nothing. Ever do anything in NCW? Right, nothing. Guess what, I was the last intercontinental champion in NCW, do you hear me gloating about left and right? No. Did I defend it? No. Why? Nobody wanted a shot I guess, cause I was giving out open challenges. And during this time you could've tried, but you tied yourself up with Taylor, using some political crap to tie you up with him so I couldn't do what everyone wanted. Unify all the damn titles at one time in one match, me versus Taylor Bridges for everything. But no, you had your bitch Wainman poking his nose her, putting is mouth down there, sucking whatever crap he could, doing everything he could for you. No wonder your wife left you, she thought Wainman loved you more than she did. More than she could. Did she go running to dear Dorito, like a few other wives have, after getting this idea in her head and hearing you working out while Mark's standing there screaming "harder!", "keep going", and "you were fantastic". Of course does she ever dare to look? No, for she dared to not trust her own eyes, as she shrouded herself in darkness. And frankly, who wouldn't blame her? And if you could manage to make it to the finals with me, I'll take you off your respirator and like the saying goes, you will hit the ground. And I kinda would like to see you in the finals, so we take the last WWCWF Intercontinental champion, and by Intercontinental I don't mean Pangea from when you were a little boy. But we take that to unify with the last NCW Intercontinental championship, to get the new world heavyweight champion. That could happen, cause even though I kicked your butt a few weeks ago, you still fell on me in Seattle to take a nap.

I wonder why Alicia hasn't come back yet. Oh well, she's an adult, so she believes. Yet just like using a key to open up a lock, it's always good to have a spare key just incase you lose the main key. But Peccant has already convinced himself of winning this thing, and he's probably looking more towards Excidium in the finals. I'm not to be taken serious, I'm just a joke, simple entertainment, that's all, right? The question is though, am I entertaining others, or myself? Why do clowns always have that flower that sprays water? What if there is no water? What would they use to fill it? Urine? But others see it coming from a flower on a clown so of course it's water, that's what they've all been told to believe, they trust the clowns, even if they may be scared of them. Five people in this tournament are nothing but clowns, the rest happen to be mentioned as the three favorites. Matt, Pain, and myself. No one's ever said they think the neanderthalic Caveman or blind Mole is going to win it all.

Three matches in one night, I've done it before, and this is going to be my third time of doing it. The last time I did it, was the last time I was on pay-per view. A wrestled for an hour and a half straight, going everywhere in the damn building, even taking a close up look of some trophies inside a glass case. I went two for three that time, and I lost the opener in the three way with Pain Express and Rico for the TV title. It should've been mine. I took Pain out of the match, I took him out. After that show, Rico became nothing and the TV title became nothing. No one cared anymore, it should have been mine. Everything was going to be mine. That was the idea, unify all the titles at one time, not just be the first guy to hold all the belts. Hell, I even brought the world of New Show to NCW, and I was the womens' champ at one point. All was going to be mine. Was it greed? Perhaps. Or was it the want to find and define the only person good enough to be holding all the gold? All of it.

But it was at the last pay-per view that I thought I had gotten rid of Matt once and for all. I buried him six feet under in the beaches of Hawaii. He was gone once and for all. And you know what Matt? You remember the day when I tried taking your career, your life? I may have not taken it, but I shortened it. But there was something indeed that I did take. And that was your wife. I took your wife Matt, because you started to become more like Bizkit, like Bobby. I took your wife, just like I took his wife. And it wouldn't have been long before I took his kids as well. Perhaps, in a way, I took your kids as well Matt. Even though they weren't conceived yet, I still stopped any little Radicals from coming. You know what's funny though Matt? You, just like Bobby Cannon, are like Sonic. And who was his girlfriend? Your manaer, Kylie. And the way things could have gone, I could have taken her as well. She could deny it, you can deny it, but time breaks everything down. Could it have happened? Perhaps, perhaps not. Would Kylie want me? Would she? Hmmm...

Dorito begins to ponder, his mind revolving around Kylie, as he leans back in the chair, stretching his arms back for a few moments with a couple of grunts, then relaxes with his left hand somehow sneaking between his flesh and the front of his pants. The camera turns away, looking toward the staircase to the left of the view after a quick glimpse of the living room, and from there it fades out as Dorito is heard saying one last thing.

Dorito: AlmightyZeus.com.

Picture out.