Bobbing and weaving, ducking and jiving, Mad Monkey pummels the air in front of him with rapid fire precision, just like a boxer warming up for a big match.  His eyes narrow and focused at a point in front of him.  The steady mid tempo rumble of High on Fire's "Bastard Samurai" blares on a beat up boombox held together with duct tape, behind him.  He moves in time with the music, sure and steady...no wasted movement...no need to rush.  Control.

As the song draws to a drum rolling epic close, Monkey reaches over and clicks stop on the cassette (!?!).  He grins wide showing off his million dollar diamond and gold toothy grin for the camera.

Well I say-a HOWDY Y'ALL!!!

He-HAW!  I must say, I'm feelin' like a million damn dollars...hell...a ZILLION damn dollars even.  Christmas is coming up and I've got an dates with 2 hot little hooker elves in some hotel room, in a city to remain nameless...on Christmas eve.  That'll be DAMN fun.  Santa Monkey's gonna be stuffing their chimneys nine ways to Sunday I tell you what!  Much better than last year when I spent it with the fuckin' ex in-laws.  Food was shit, company was shit, and the ex ol' lady wouldn't even put out on account of me knocking out her brother for a...uh...couple of rude comments.

Ahem...Just a shit holiday all around.

This year though...hot DAMN!  Not only cause of them there naughty times to come but then for New Years Day I get to further cement my well laid plans. 

But...I'm gettin' ahead of myself.  First lets talk about what done occurred a few nights ago.  The Monkey Dropping heard round the world!  My Twitter account is blowing up with outrage, they tell me.  Not that I care...I don't even know how to log into the damn thing.  Prolly a good thing, I bet I wouldn't do nuthin' except tell people about what I'm eating and what color my poop is.  HeHAW!!

'Sides...I got people to manage it for me.  It's a damn promotion tool, ain't it?  You wanna know my personal and media appearances?  Follow me on Twitter, twats.  Anywhozits...they tell me folks are crying and pleading...WHY MONKEY WHY!?!

Why'd you cheap shot poor Lance like that?  Heh.  All part of the plan, kids.  Lance and Nightcat were the next two guys in line for a shot at Fella, so I just sauntered my way in between 'em.  Oh, I KNOW what I'm doing...be sure o' that.  So here I am, I done got Lance and Nightcat to deal with.  Now...I'm ain't gonna to say that Lance is the easier target but...well heres the long and shorty hairs of it.  I done already beat him once.  He's fighting an injury...and on a losing streak.  So for one thingy...he's more dangerous if left unchecked because he's desperate...a cornered animal.  But on another...it won't take as much to put him out of action.  Nothing personal, Lance...all part of the game.

But then why...you may ask...if I'm gonna be such a hairy bastard then why didn't I just let Nightcat finish him off?  Why not?  'Cause...I want him in the match.  I don't want him totally out of action...just hurt.  Softened up.  See, kids...he's the spoiler.  The distraction.  The fall guy.

The grin has faded and twisted into a devilish smirk.

Aww, Monkey...but yer better than that ain't ya?  Why can't you just fight them there guys straight up...fair and square?  Oh...well I could.  I sure as goose shit could if I had too.  But...I don't.  Because I'm playing the game.  My game.  My rules. 

Do I have yer dadgum attention now , Nightcat?  Not that I need it, but since you done gone to the trouble to fetch me something for Christmas I'll let you in on a lil' secret.

Shhh...c'mon in close.

I'm gonna play you in Edmonton like Charlie Daniels plays a fiddle.

Heh...they say that the evil villian always loses because he gives away his plans to the hero too soon.  But here's the thing...I'm the hero and the villian wrapped up in one hot diggity dawg sexy package.  Anti-hero or some shit.  And I ain't really revealing nuthin' that ain't already obvious anyhow.  You and Lance still got unfinished business...ya may never finish it at this rate but still.  It's an open case.  White hot passionate obsessed type o' hatred.  Can both of you keep focused on the prize, or will your emotions be writing checks your ass can't cash?  Big questions.  I gots big answers. Obvious problems, like a blind man wiping his own ass.

Wait..

He goes over what he's just said in his head with furrowed brow before waving it off...

Sorry...I don't even know what that means.  But it does raise another important question...how the hell does a blind man know when he's done wiping his ass?  Food for thought.

The million dollar toothy grin is back, and he slicks back his thinning hair.

So then where was I?  Hmm...eh...who gives a rat tittie fuck? 

OH!  The hair in my soup, that's right.  Steve Fella.  Now, you being the oh so special guest ref was NOT part of my plan.  I'll admit that.  Not that it's a problem...it's just unexpected.  An unexpected...PLEA-ZHAA!!!  Booyah!  Heh...the helliswrongwithme? HeHAW!

Now Steve...I think we know each other pretty well after all these dadgum years.  And I know all 'bout you in this here mode yer in.  Yer in yer "take no prisoners", "take all challenges", "cut no corners", "biggest cunt on the block and he'll stick it in yer face so you can take a whiff and he'll dadgum prove it, yesiree bobalouie" modes.  And I love it!  I love it when yer in that mode...firing on all cylinders, kickin' ass and takin' names just to tear up the lil' scraps of paper you wrote 'em on!

Damn straight, buckaroo.  So I also know, you want to face the most worthy opponent.  The guy who's also running on all cylinders, mental and physical.  The guy who you know is gonna bring it like no one else can.  The man who you also hold no clean pinfalls over... heh...granted I also hold no clean pinfalls over you.  Some dirty ones, but...heh.  I digress.  T'was another time...another dadgum place. 

NOW is what matters.  Steve Fella vs Mad Monkey for the Universal Title.  Damn that sounds sweet.  Now...uh...don't go 'round taking my prose and praise as some sort of bribe or plea for special favors, Stevie.  No sireebobalouie.  You know that ain't my style.  I'm earning this title shot, my way.  The right way.

One thing I agree with ol' Nocturnal pussy emissions about...you just sit back and call this thing down the middle.  Enjoy...I say ENJOY, the show.  'Cause it's gonna be a humdinger, I tell you what.

Well, back to the ol' grindstone, buckaroos.

With that, Monkey presses play on the cassette and the end of "Bastard Samurai" cuts right into, Buck 65's "Wicked and Weird."  Cassette mixtape...93 style, baby.  Mad Monkey = cutting edge.  Monkey picks up a jump rope and winks us away into the ether...