[After Jonny Storm's victory, the rest of the Extremists join him in the ring.  Lance Storm grabs the mic.]

LS: Hey Armstrong boys, how do you like the Wonderkid? [Crowd boos as the much smaller Jonny Storm puffs his chest.]  You Armstrongs just aren't too bright, are ya?  Did you actually think that we were walking into a match with you three inbred, disgusting, bass-ackwards hicks without a plan?  Enter, Jonny Storm, my long lost English cousin!

[The crowd boos at the thought of all these Storms actually being related.]

JS: When Lance called me up and told me that there was a disgusting HICKS getting in his business, I knew I just had to get me some of that!

LS: What you country bumpkins need to realize is that we are the Extremists, we are the elite, we are what a professional wrestler is supposed to be.  You three idiots will never be able to lace our boots!

AD: Exactly, Lance.  And just to prove it beyond doubt, Steve, Scott, myself and Devon are challening you two idiots for a match at Slam Masters on February 23rd!

DS: If the little beating we gave you earlier wasn't enough to put you guys out, we'll be sure to finish the job at Slam Masters!

JS: While we're dishing out challenges, Brad Armstrong!  Listen up, hillbilly. [In a poor Southern accent] If you aren't too yellah, why don't you and me have ourselves a slobberknocker at Slam Masters?!  If you can take enough time away from ropin' the cattle and milking the cows, that is!  Ha ha ha ha ha ha!

LS: Armstrongs, you're about to be taken...

ALL: TO THE EXTREME!

[The crowd boos as the Extremists all file out of the ring looking very proud of themselves.]