Backstage, a loading dock has been converted into a makeshift lounge, with creaky, rusting folding chairs and dirty, wobbly tables arranged around the bare concrete floor. Various RDCW 'hopefuls' are sitting around waiting for their chance at greatness with varying levels of trepidation.

Marcum: Looks like the RDCW Tryouts are still going strong!

Monroe: Fantastic.

At one end of the dock, The Great Bluedini is adjusting his bowtie in a mirror while receiving further fashion advice from Chief Pink Feather. At the other end, Baarooq, the militant African-American D&D Barbarian tightens his chain-mail armbands and spars with his reflection in a plate-glass window. A nervous-looking Dolphin Lad sits by the door, nursing his lingering injuries and listening for footsteps outside the door. A handful of other hopefuls are sitting around a table playing poker, including a mouse-costumed luchador, a cheesy-looking wrestler in green with a dragon mask over his face, a patent-leather-clad cowboy wannabe with a fake moustache, and a red-painted man in a cheap, store-bought firefighter costume.

Marcum: Hey, all the best and the brightest are here tonight!

As the cowboy - we'll call him Pecos Pleather Pete or Triple P- wins another hand and rakes in some cheap plastic chips, heavy footfalls begin approaching from the hallway outside. Dolphin Lad jumps to his feet and begins clicking and squealing in earnest until the door flies open, slamming him behind it as Balls Nasty strides onto the loading dock, beer in hand and chicken/donut in mouth.

Balls Nasty (crunching on his meal): Well, well, well. *shmack* Looks like y'all didn't take my advice when ya had the chance. I just stepped out here for a smoke before I go back in there and comment on some matches, but I think my smokes can wait!

Pecos Pleather Pete slides his chair back from the table and saunters over toward Balls Nasty.

Pleather Pete: Now listen here, Pilgrim. Y'oughta know better'n to go pokin' around these here parts!

BN:








PP: Now don't make me learn ya a lesson here!

BN: Y'know, I was gonna kick your ass because of that shitty costume. But now I'm gonna kick your ass because of that shitty accent!

[i[Balls sets aside his beer and donut and shoves Pecos Pleather Pete back into the card table as the other hopefuls scatter. Pete comes up swinging, but Balls ducks under his punch easily and lands a haymaker of his own, leveling Pecos Pleather Pete with a single punch.[/i]

Marcum: Giddy up, cowboy!

Hombre Del Mouse sneaks up behind Balls Nasty with a chair, but before he can swing it Balls spins around and grins at him. Hombre Del Mouse starts shaking nervously and lets the chair drop. Balls lets fly with a left hook that spins the much smaller man around, then grabs Hombre Del Mouse by the tail of his costume, flings him off balance, and executes a Tavernsmasher onto the dropped chair. At this point, both The Great Bluedini and Baarooq, the militant African-American D&D Barbarian have silently ducked out the door.

Monroe: Balls Nasty is cleaning out the loading dock!

Marcum: I didn't know it was trash day!

Balls Nasty turns to confront the Fireman when suddenly he feels a pinch on the behind and whirls around.

Chief Pink Feather: I was just curious!

Chief Pink Feather scampers for the door and prances off down the hallway at full speed. Balls starts after him but stops when he notices the green dragon wrestler just standing there, looking at him.

BN: Feeling left out, dragon man?

The other man says nothing.

BN: You got something to say to me?

The green dragon mask hides the man's face, but no voice can be heard from behind it.

BN: You're startin' to piss me off. You got somethin' to say, say it now, before I kick your ass.

The other man simply turns and walks away toward the door. Balls starts after him but is hit weakly in the back by a poorly-aimed fire-extinguisher nozzle. He turns and decks the Fireman, then calls out the door after the green dragon wrestler.

BN: You better run, dragon man! You got any sense in you, get your ass outta here, or there's gonna be hell to pay, Balls Nasty style!

Balls kicks at the fallen Fireman, then turns when he hears the unconscious Dolphin Lad slump to the floor from behind the door. Balls reaches across the table, retrieves a card, and tucks it into the waistband of Dolphin Lad's shorts. We zoom in to see it's the deuce of clubs.

Monroe: Lowest-value card in the deck!

Marcum: He sure is!

Balls digs at Dolphin Lad again with his foot.

BN: Fucknut.

Balls Nasty bends over, strikes a match on Pleather Pete's belt buckle, and lights his cigar. Fade to black.