We return from commercial to find Joe Mama standing in the ring. The reception is lukewarm. No entrance music, just a man and a mic.

JM: I expected to come back here last week, but it seems that the doctors in these parts, as well as The Doctor himself, take a Grade Three concussion a bit seriously. So I was forced to take in Havoc from a hospital bed while under observation. Long story short, I have two bits of business to take care of.

First off, Captain Sammitch.

The audience cheers at the mere mention of the new Eurotrash Champion.

JM: You're offering to just hand over the Eurotrash Title to me? And all I have to do is "forget our rivalry"? Is that it? Let me make my position on that perfectly clear: If you ever...EVER...offer to hand that title to me, or anyone for that matter, I will personally make you roadkill. I held that title for about six months. I put my ass on the line for it more times than I care to count, and kicked a damned good amount. You won the title. How you did it means very little to me, whether it was a clean win, or outside interference. But don't you EVER cheapen that belt by offering to hand it over. Are we clear? Offer rejected.

Rest assured, Sammitch: you and I will face off again. Whether it's for the Eurotrash Title, or another title, means very little to me. Our match at ARMA-GADDA-DA-VIDDA (try to pronounce it!) didn't end the way either one of us wanted it. A rematch is inevitable.

But not tonight. And not any time before the Rumble. Which brings me to my second business item...Chris.

The crowd is warming up to Joe Mama.

JM: Chris, I have to remember sometimes that you haven't been in the spotlight all that long. All the pressure of being a champion is new to you, so OF COURSE you're going to do stupid things. You trashed my rental car at Arma-Gadda-Da-Vidda, and now you're buying that company a new car. Dumb. You introduce a couple of Luchadores as members of the Bastardo Family, who then attack a fan, opening up one HELL of a lawsuit. Dumber.

But, Chris, the dumbest thing you have done is run your mouth off about me, about Captain Sammitch, about Bibbo, and everyone else who breathes the same air as you. Because it's clear, at least to me, that you have absolutely NO focus! Even before you defended your titles, you were challenging me to a match at the following month's pay-per-view. And what happened? You lost one of the titles. Now you're facing off against me and running your mouth about Sammitch and Meeko and title matches that don't even involve you. You're looking past me, and that'll cost you. It's the mistake King Snarf made when he was after me and my Eurotrash Title. And it's the mistake that is gonna cost you the Inter-Cunt-Inental Title.

Now, for me, the title is just gravy. I'm not thinking about it. I'm not worried about where I enter the Rumble. I'm not even thinking about going after Nowhereman or Captain Sammitch right now. Because my only focus - the only thing I spend any time thinking about - is our match at the Rumble. The Fenway Park Street Match. And, Chris, believe me when I say this: I am going to put a world of hurt on you. I am going to introduce you to a whole new reality of pain that you never thought existed. When our match is over, you'll be lucky if you have the ability to walk, much less compete in the actual Rumble. Look at me, Chris. I have no titles. I have nothing to lose. And, in three weeks, when we face off in our match, I will have gone back to basics. I'll be taking things back to the beginning. No baseball jerseys...no gimmicks...no distractions. Just you, me, and PAIN.

But I will say this: an old friend of mine will be making an appearance. An old running mate of mine that was by my side in the beginning, but that I allowed myself to lose touch with. She'll be making an appearance, Chris. Count on it.

Forget the Rumble, Chris, and where you'll be entered. Forget the title - it's a distraction. Forget Captain Sammitch and Meeko and everyone you've allowed into your head. Focus on me. Focus on our match. Because the minute you start looking past me, that's where I'll getcha! Three weeks, Chris...you have three weeks to pull your shit together and get ready for our Fenway Park Street Fight. Because I guarantee you, destroying you is the only thing on my mind...

The fans are mostly cheering as Joe Mama makes his way to the back. At the head of the ramp, he holds up his hands. With his right hand, he holds up three fingers, which stay up while his left hand flashes three fingers, then form a fist, then three fingers, then a fist, then one more set of three before he turns and leaves the ring area completely.

Monroe: Strong words from Joe Mama. But what was he doing with his hands? What was the three fingers and nine fingers about? What is three-nine???

Madman: More importantly, who's he bringing to the Royal Rumble? An ex-girlfriend? His manager from when he wrestled the Independent Circuit in Massachusetts? Who is his mystery friend, and what does it mean for Chris Oakley???