[Fern.]

[Banner.]

[World Title.]

CCJ:
Yes, Ace, I am still laughing.

[Standing tall, and donning nothing but extravagant silk head to toe-- The God of COOLYMPUS playfully chuckles aloud. His eyes are glazed over in a shade of vibrant magenta, although they remain unseen because of the patented mirror-tint.]

[Of course, The Count’s hair equals the cost of, and looks like the Exxon Valdez oil slick.] 

CCJ:
For a short man... a patient man... a diligent man, eh, I meant to say smart man, sorry. Anyway, you’re pretty stupid if you think it’s even at all possible for me to quench my jesting thirst. In fact, I have books, upon books, upon stacks of other books that have never to be used jokes in them.

I have more jokes than Edward White has money.

I have more funny things to say than “fogetta bout it” has meanings.

For instance, I could be about as unoriginal as your haircut and ask you how’s your day going? I could be daring and say the reason you don’t have what it takes to defeat me is because you can’t dunk a basketball on a seven foot net. I could even debate how stupid the debate about gravy or sauce is.

Hell, I could even explain to you why the Godfather was horrible movie.

[A pause.]

CCJ:
But, I won’t. Not today. Instead, I’m going to open up the joke book I have about you thinking you can compete on my level. And no, Ace, that’s not supposed to be taken as a short joke either.

[Candidly, The Lord of COOL continues. Before doing so however, he manifested what looked to be three telephone books taped together to signify that there’s a lot of material on the subject he’s speaking about.]

CCJ:
In no world do you, “Fat Tits” Tony and Betty Boop-Soprano pose any sort of tangible threat to me. Not the one I’m currently World Champion in. Not the one where you’re of average height. Not the one where people swirl spaghett from left to right.

Not. Any.

As a matter of fact, the only way I would ever feel threatened by any of you... is if one day I woke up in a salon and it was one of you Mongos that was cutting my million dollar hair.

Truth.

[Lord Jiles of COOLSYLVANIA shudders at the thought.]

CCJ:
You... tough talking me? HA. Now that’s a funny joke. In case you happened to forget, I am the Defiance World Champion, Ace. I do not get intimidated by a goon-- let alone an entire squadron of them. I do not care about your strife. I do not care that you think you should be Champion, when you stay blind to the reason you’re not.

[A reaffirming pat on the title belt.]

CCJ:
I am The High Chief of COOL, Ace. I do not back down when the pickings is ripe with meaty Italian Mongo-scalp.

[Cancer went navahoe for that last bit.]

[OMG. Tomahawk CHAWP. High Chief! Cancer Jiles is a Secret Indian!]

CCJ:
I’m the guy who lives up in the sky.... high above everyone else. The one who touches the stars each night, and then extinguishes their flame before he goes to sleep.

[He’s got the COOL touch like that.]

CCJ:
You, will try as hard as you possibly can, Ace. However, Def TV... Ascension... no matter what, as long as you’re still you, and more importantly I am still The COOL...

...you’re always going to come up....

short.

[end.]
 

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