Joe Mama is shown sitting on one of the beanbags at the RHCP set, twiddling his thumbs. Son of Mxy is nowhere to be seen. Joe looks like he's about to stand up and leave when the Cheese-O-Tron starts to show a live feed of Son Of Mxy "at the hospital".
SoM: Hello, Ol' Buddy Ol' Chum, how's it going?
JM: I'm fine, thank you. How about you? Aren't you supposed to be here in person, to interview and perhaps congratulate me on my excellent career choice. *grins*
SoM: Oh I don't know. Maybe I'm not there because I'm CURRENTLY AT THE HOSPITAL RECOVERING FROM THE INJURIES I SUFFERED AT THE HANDS OF GRIMM.
JM: What the hell are you talking about?
JM: ...Grimm just threw you over the top rope. I don't think you'll suffer anything but a broken ego from that.
JM: Second, you're not at the hospital. I know that place. That's the karaoke bar right beside the cheesedome.
SoM: Yeah, well fuck you, This is my hospital. Music heals my wounded soul.
JM: Whatever you say, buddy.
SoM: Actually, this brings me to the crux of this interview with myself.
JM: I thought I'm supposed to be the interviewee?
SoM: No. You're Joe Mama and I'm Mxy!
JM: LAWL!
SoM: Okay, I don't want to waste anymore time since there's a Chikako Shiratori song waiting for me and I'm in the mood to bust out some j-pop rhymes...so I'll go straight to my point - The rules say that in order to be eliminated from the rumble, BOTH feet should touch the ground.
JM: Yes, everybody knows that.
SoM: Yet I body surfed through the crowd. My lean, sexy, asian body was carried by the fans all over the cheesedome, my feet never touching anything but air, until I was taken out of the arena and dumped head-first into an open dumpster, with my feet still in the air.
SoM: I never got out of the dumpster until the next morning.
SoM: Case in point, my feet only acquainted themselves with the cement at least a few hours after Penwis' have touched the ground. I SHOULD be the number one contender.
SoM: But since I'm a nice guy, I'm willing to share so I propose that we just make it a triple threat match against that guy with a name that sounds like the male genitalia. Penwicker.
JM: Penwing.
SoM: Yes. Pendick. Of course, neither of us can make matches so I can't just jump into the void and shout "Let there be light!"
JM: That much is true.
SoM: Got any ideas?
JM: How about you gatecrash the contract signing, hit Penboner with the Subject-Verb Agreement and then sign your name on his contract?
SoM: That sounds insane. Will it work?
JM: I'm not sure, but last month I gatecrashed the Mantrade hall while the contract signing for the Pizza Hut-Shakey's merger is going on, powerbombed everybody through the table and signed my name on the contracts. Now I own both companies.
SoM: very awesome.
SoM: I don't know, maybe I'll just go straight to the management and plead my case.
JM: Try to sing them into submission.
SoM: Yeah, I doubt that they'll be able to refuse after I sing them a song about growing up as an orphan in the mean streets of Nagoya.
JM: Good luck then, and I'll be seeing you at our title match.
JM: Good luck to you too on your wonderful career as a pizza mogul.
Wolfgang's "No Falter" blares through the speakers before going to a commercial.
