Back from break we’re backstage catching up with a very disappointed looking Doris Hilton and an absolutely dazed and confused Texas Stampede, Gordy Lovett. Doris folds her arms and purses her lips the way women do when they’re about to hurt your feelings. Gordy doesn’t notice any of this fairly obvious body language thanks to the two extra extra large powerbombs from the living breathing act of brutality known as Lord Colossus. The unfocused look in Gordy’s eyes just screams concussion…
Gordy Lovett: Anybody get the got-damn license plate of that city bus? Sheeeeeeit… mah head feels like it’s full of wild cats, man.
His manager scowls and narrows her eyes.
Doris Hilton: Oh you’ve got JOKES now, do ya’? Do you know just how much I have invested in you, you fat headed idiot? And what do you do… you LOSE.
The Stampede looks around bewildered.
Lovett: Doris, you hear that ringin’ sou…
The Georgia peach rears back and full on slaps her charge across the face so hard as to leave a red handprint across the side of Gordy’s face. Gordy looks like a sad old hound that just got smacked by his owner. He just sits there holding his cheek as Doris fumes.
Hilton: You listen to me, you back country moron… it took you nearly twenty damn years to find even the dimmest limelight and that’s due nearly completely to ME. The next booking I get you here in Classic, Gordy…
She leans in with the menace only a woman of her age and station can command.
Hilton: … you better start producin’ for me. Because there’s a long LONG line of people I could replace you with at the drop of a HAT. It’ll be back to veterans halls, bingo parlors and those loooong plane rides to Tokyo for you before you can stuff another disgusting brown wad of that junk between your teeth and gum.
She emphasises her point with a finger in his chest.
Hilton: Do you read me… cowboy?
The Stampede breathes a heavy sigh and holds his aching head and neck.
Lovett: Yes ma’am.
We cut back to commentary as Hilton continues scowling down at her client.