The Dogg Zzone by 1900HOTDOG - The Secret Men: Part 7 - Tracking Toots - with Dirk Marshall

Episode Date: September 9, 2026

Dirk Marshall joins the ranks of the Secret Men as Frank Dux battles the city of St. Louis in a thrilling search for Toots! Toots! TOOTS!

9,000, the official podcast of 1,900 hotdog.com. We are the last comedy website. Go to our Patreon to support us. It's at patreon.com slash 1,900 hotdog. We have daily articles from world-class writers. It's the best, like the old days of the internet. I'm Sean Baby, from those old days of the internet. And my partner has the real true world record for most consecutive bulge and authentic men's room.

He's Robert Brockway. I'm Robert Brockway. Here's a Brockway fact. My friends call me Tinkerbell because I wear a slutty little tunic. I'm heavy into Brett play and oh yeah I make men fly no questions

I like that you paused to say yeah like just to let us take that part in before you finished let's pause here and let you yeah okay great it was a great fact

I have a lot of follow-up questions are those okay? Not allowed oh damn it our guest is from the podcast VH Us and the hot sauce Marshall's hot sauce recruited by actual non-fictional sex spies to make that sauce. It's Dirk Marshall.

Welcome back. Knitting, Pilates, decopaging, all things I learned from the CIA at the ripe age of 14 in a men's room. Impressive. And then they sent you know Marine boot camp with a decopage. Yes. Yeah. And all the sex stuff too. They both served you well.

This is episode seven of our Peabody Likely series on the Secret Man, a very real and true novel of The Life of Frank Duke. as seen in the based on true story film Bloodsport it's a very rare book probably because he got caught

lying hundreds of times and also confesses to a few murders every time I record an episode of this my copy loses $200 of its value

if you haven't listened or watched on YouTube go back and listen to parts one through six or divide danger here on the edge of madness let's do some plugs

before I start reading Brockway I'll go ahead and plug Big Feats are the podcast go Go listen to Bigfeets. We are, by the time this airs, we are going to be very, very close to done in the final episodes of the show Mountain Monsters having done every episode.

And just about transition to the YouTube disaster days, the YouTube drama disaster days. So the team falls apart and starts yelling at each other in the comments of Facebook posts while making even lower budget YouTube videos about fighting Bigfoot every single day. It's going to be great. Go listen to that. It's going to be so great. Yeah, listen, quick, before we get to that, because I say it's going to be great, but, oh, that's going to be, it's going to be rough to get through. Sean, it's going to be great for them. It's going to be great for the audience to hear us.

I agree. But I don't know how long we'll want to do it. Yeah, we'll get together. Be like, oh, fuck, I had the worst five nights trying to research this Facebook comment. Jeff left. Here's my other plug. Once we do transition to the Sons of Appalach and Ames Files, I think is the other show that. that they're spending off into.

Once we do transition into that era, you will get to listen live as you hear all of your favorite comedians and hosts, slowly lose the will to live. Like a year from now. Media landscape. Broken, broken, broken useless men. Yeah, yeah, that's all of us. You can be there live for it.

Big Feats. Great plug, Dirk. Yes, VHS is, that's my podcast. You can check that out there. We're talking about lots of movies. People don't really talk about too often. And also doing weird things like drafting our own action armies to battle against other made up evil action armies.

That episode will be out by the time this comes out. Oh, excellent. Yeah, check that out. Sean's on there on Brockway and Zach. So it's a real blast. When are we going to do the Oops All Shacks? Oops All Shacks episode. Next season, I swear.

Oops All Shacks. I think two of us emailed you to ask. ask if it was legal to do an all shack. That's true. Twice. I'd really shut that down. Also, go to marshalshot sauce.com. Get some sauce.

My wife's doing crazy things like pickling scorpion peppers and malort and Paps Blue Ribbon. There's fun stuff going on there that's delicious and spicy. And it's a good time. And if you're in Portland, go to Dirk's house and take a hot sauce tour. Oh, gosh, you can. That's the crazy thing. For as low as $20, you can show up at my home. and I have to let you in and serve you all of our sauces with bonus wine and snacks and pickles and hang out for, I think it's now two hours.

And most of that is me talking about Godfrey-Ho movies and sharks' exploitation films and nunsploitation films. It's a lot of me trying not to talk about hot sauce, but I am required to do that too. I'm going to do that. I can't even eat hot sauce anymore. Yeah, you could just hang out. His wife made me like a hot sauce platter once, just kind of add a no way. She's like, hey, you want to do like every sauce from the Hot Ones episode we were on? And I was like, fuck yeah, I do. And it was delicious.

I could have done it for two hours. It was supposed to be an hour, but now it's, I don't know if we can fix that. But because most people, they're done in an hour. They've drank all the wine or ate all the snacks, had all the talking to I could do. But I recently had someone that was like, good thing, this is two hours. And I was like, gum again. So that's out of my opinion. One guy doesn't get to dictate that.

You can just stop. You don't have to like address this. You can just not do that anymore. I'm sorry, yes. It's listed on Airbnb experiences. That's the problem is that it's listed there as a two-hour experience. Oh, okay. So until we have to honor that.

Yeah, you have to show up and you don't have to stay. I should say you don't have to stay. It's not you. I have an idea. If someone was in my home and said Airbnb said I get to stay two hours, I would put my fist through the back of their skull so fast. Like, surely you have a lot of movies that are the perfect length of time, 77 minutes. Oh, that's what I should start doing is that right at the hour mark would be like,

I'm just going to put on one of my favorite films over here. Yeah, and then you get a bonus 17 minutes if you stay to the credits of like Ninja Destroyer or whatever. Yeah, that's a good plan. Pumpkinhead three is what I'll put on. It'll be out of there in five minutes. We're going to try to get through three chaps today. We won't and there won't be any consequences for our failure. In fact, people will hail us as heroes.

When we left off, Frank was saying a lot of ironic things about truth and integrity, and they were very funny. But he was also a magical omniscient observer on a high-speed car chase that ended with no glory or point. So that's where we left off. He was not involved. Wow. He told a very long story about some spy work that he watched from behind a dumpster, and it resolved without his input. This is the best book. He was a janitor or something.

in a nearby garbage can. Okay, so now he's landing in St. Louis, and it's the darkest place in the world. Crossing the river was like crossing a border into another country. The East St. Louis Riverfront in downtown, in contrast, looked as if it had bombed out. Perhaps the bitter wind and gray sky made everything seem dingier than usual. The local stockyards didn't help, but I doubted anything could make this place enticing. The elevated interstate enabled one to pass over the city and pretend it didn't exist. Who wanted to descend into its depths?

Only the people trapped there, along with some poor unknown sucker who happened to get killed there. And an idiot like me who made a living of going into shitholes in an attempt to figure out who, what and why. Times like this, I could easily argue with myself that what I was doing had nothing to do with national security or saving any small corner of the world. This is St. Louis? Just St. Louis? He's just in St. Louis. There's not like another St. Louis in like, I don't know, Syria or something. No, no, this is not St. Louis, Beirut. This is St. Louis, America, United States. I've missed a few chapters because how you've recorded this. I've listened to everything you've aired.

He's just going to this city to find out who, what, when, and where? Yeah, there's a dead body that showed up in St. Louis weeks ago, and it had a KGB dart in it. Okay. Okay. That makes more sense. Not where the KGB shoots people. And it was an old poison. It was like an, it was like an old version of the poison. I believe he said it had gone stale. Yeah, it's a bad stale poison.

Still killed the guy. It still wasn't, it was still fresh enough to kill a guy. Right. The KGB's on 2.7 and this was like a version 1.3 poison. You know how poisons get updated every few months. It worked. It worked, but it had like a gross texture. The guy was like, oh, my blood's chunky.

Yeah. It no longer took USBB. How old is he now? He is, gosh, I don't know the year, but in his early 20s probably. Okay, okay, that helps. I think this is the era where he's hunting. The KGB stuff is fish? Or is this still unrelated?

God, is there an unrelated murder? I think this is a third flashback. It could be a fourth. I'm not kidding. He's on a date, telling a story. He's still on the date. This is like setting up fish. So this is like he's tracking these.

dead bodies and I think it will turn out that fish is doing all the dead bodies and then he becomes the nemesis. We've already had the introduction to Fish where he was a very playful scamp who did pranks with babies. Decoy baby. He set up the decoy baby traps in the woods. I love that. But not deadly ones.

Like little ha ha gotcha baby traps. I've never seen it done in reverse like this where like you set up just a real a real jester character. You're going to like prank you into slipping into a tunnel full of ants. And then you're like, now we got to do his dark origins. I feel like when it cuts back to this date, it's going to be that old gag where it's like it cuts to his lady and she's just a skeleton with a wig on. Airplane gag for sure.

And he'll go, fish, my God. It'll be the first date's like granddaughter. Yes. The rest of the show will be writing airplane gags for Frank Dukes's date. Frank Dukes continues. On the other hand, I didn't like the idea of someone leaving. leaving a trail of corpses, and I realized with a bit of surprise that I had begun to accept the hunch that this was an inside job as a certainty.

Heading down Broadway Avenue, I couldn't help but laugh at myself and my surroundings. Where are the theaters? I joked out loud. Hell, this place was a living theater with a set rate out of West Side Story, and I had front road tickets in a show that involved audience participation. Hey, Frank, I mean this sincerely. You've got to fuck yourself for that. whole paragraph. I love how you can see where he's just like, where he does these action movie riffs,

and it's just the mere mention, like, he's typing it and he's like, where can I set it? Broadway, I know, but it's not the Broadway, you know. It's a different kind of cats down here. They're tigers. Yeah. The only snapping here won't be finger snapping, but bone snapping of my enemies who are theater techs when you think about it. But what's side story?

More like death side story. Right. That's actually pretty cool. Yeah. It's fucking sweet, Frank. Audience participation. And he just doesn't know when to stop. He'll have like, he's got like three action movie taglines and he's like, no, no, no, one more.

And then he always ruins it. It's always a punch on that fourth one. And there will be fucking audience participation. They're like, nope, not going on the poster. That one's not going on the poster, Frank. Yep. No restraint. I found that tiny side street off 8th Avenue when parked.

I wouldn't have any trouble. finding my car. I was the only one stupid enough to leave mine on the street. Outside it was color, then a witch's tit in a tin bra. East St. Louis was doing a good imitation of hell in winter. What? I wondered. It's just cold in St. Louis. Hell, hell in winter. I wondered what bait had been used to lure the victim down this narrow cul-de-sac and into the deserted building. The outer door had been removed from its hinges, and a piece of tin sheeting had been nailed over the opening. It flapped and vibrated with miniature rumbles, where it had been torn back to provide someone entrance. I slipped through the gap and into the building, which at least

provided a bit of respite from the wind. The stairway was littered with trash and stank. I didn't bother to use the broken handrail. A faded red door marked the entry to the room where the body had been found over a week earlier. A shabby death in a shabby place. Wow. I would, look, I know this is probably taking place in the 70s, right? Like early 70s? I think so. I think this is... Lots of places that are nice now.

We're real sketching in America back then. Like, I can't fully fault him for just being like, I don't know St. Louis. I've been to St. Louis sometime in the last 20 years. It's not that bad. I think every city's got a couple of blocks where you're like, wow, this place sucks. Yeah, I'm sure. I'm sure there is. I would love to be able to track...

I feel like he gave you enough information of like coming over the bridge where he's looking that you could track this neighborhood. And I would love to know if it was ever a shithole. Because I have a feeling if you looked, it would probably be like literally the place he's describing. You could track down. It would be like an ice cream parlor. And that's been there for a hundred years.

There's a thing about Frank. He kind of has the vibe of someone who doesn't like get out a lot. And so like he like too many bathroom observations. You know what I mean? Like these are the thoughts of someone who like. He's like, oh, look, a bathroom. And you're thinking about a bathroom. It's like, shouldn't you have been in several of these every day of your life?

Like, why are you giving us? The metal door in the bathroom, which is generally the supply closet out to be like, what is that? What mysteries could that hold? You've wondered, as have I. Yeah. And he goes into a bar and he doesn't talk about it like someone who goes to bars. He talks about it like someone who has seen like, you know, a hard nose detective

punch information out of a guy in a bar, you know, in a movie. Yeah. Yeah, this doesn't feel like St. Louis, that's all I'm saying. He might not have ever been to the city period, yes. I bet he hasn't. And that's just like, that's a weird lie. I think he might be the only person to lie that says like, yeah, I've been to St. Louis. What, you jealous?

Stank in its alleyways with tinfoil. It's just trying to sound cool. I've never been alone to St. Louis on a trip to an empty building to see where a dead body was weeks ago. This time, the body had been discovered within hours of the victim's death. He'd been shot through the back of the head at point-blank range, two bullets that removed a large part of his head and practically obliterated his face. Dried frozen blood and brains were spattered everywhere. The corpse, that of an Asian male in his mid-20s, had ended up as just another John Doe in the police morgue. Police had found no identification on the body, although there was always a chance that a wallet had been, quote, scavenged before officials reached the scene.

Thus far, fingerprints had failed to provide any leads, and I was ready to bet 100 to 1. that he'd remain unidentified. What distinguished this particular murder from the hundreds of others taking place across the country at the same time, however, wasn't the fact that the victim was unknown. Ballistics reports indicated that the bullets were Russian, small caliber, and probably fired from a Russian gun.

Fish! It's definitely fish. Hold on. Isn't fish... Isn't fish at CIA agent? Yeah, fish is like a Mission Impossible villain because he's from the agency and turned rogue. But also they don't, I don't think they know him yet.

I think. So is he trying to set up like, oh, this is the KGB, so to throw him off my trail as a stop motion skeleton? They'll never suspect the stop motion skeleton. He's fighting a sin-bad monster. But, no, Frank is trying to set up like all of these deaths are somehow linked that only he and Bill Casey can identify. He's, oh, some random Asian guy got his face blown off in St. Louis. Even though there's thousands of murders every day in St. Louis, that one, that one's kind of got a Russian thing to it because the bullets were Russian. You know what fires Russian bullets?

It's going to sound crazy, but Russian guns. So does he know also these other thousand murders that are happening? And that's how he can rule out this one? I think that they probably have the records on all the murders. And then Bill Casey kind of looks them over every day. super secret spy access. I'll give him that. He's got all the local news feeds on a giant bank of televisions.

And he's like, what the fuck? Look at that one there. It's weird that I'll give him the benefit of the doubt to like, yeah, he's got, it's fine. He's got all the secret spy stuff. But I won't give him the benefit of the doubt that you've been to St. Louis. Like, no, I'm sorry. That's it.

That's the line too far. I agree. Of course, once again, I was on the scene much too late. Even though the body had been discovered rather quickly, a week had gone by before the ballistics results had been forwarded to the FBI and someone within the agency had been notified. Only now did I truly understand the far-reaching power of the agency to alter facts, even squash police reports, and criminal investigations. The body had been mysteriously misplaced without going down on record, even as a John Doe. So despite the FBI and the CIA

having records of this, Frank is accusing them of destroying the records of this. I'll say it. I'm confused. That's why you can't check, you guys. Yeah, that's why you can't look this up. Just mentally amend the statement, and that's why you can't check, you guys. Genius. Like the end of every paragraph. It's amazing that he thinks sometimes to cover that. And sometimes he doesn't think he, like, sometimes he will use Bill Casey's real fucking name.

Yeah. No, that's a real guy. It's a real guy. But if he, but if he denies it, that's classic CIA. Yeah, that's exactly what he would do if it were all real. So he explains for a long time how he's not. allowed to be there by international law because he's technically contracted for the CIA right now and they're not allowed to operate on American soul yada yada yada I'm going to skip ahead.

Two of my own training officers admitted they were accustomed to training operatives like me who did not exist officially when I probed further asking if cops were regularly involved. Both informed me of the standard response for a CIA-connected law enforcement official. Don't deny the connection, but attempts to avoid the issue if pressed, state that one had only received the technical assistance on how to keep files and how to perform more advanced surveillance techniques than those offered by the FBI. And me? I asked one of them. What do I say if I'm linked to CIA domestic operations? Before or after you're hit by the bus, he replied. So, I mean, that's fucking cool. They're using buses for their hits. That's how good the CIA is. Yeah. Yeah,

he could mean it both ways. I assume he means throw it under the bus. metaphorically, or a normal person would, but I do think he's saying, no, they would murder you. They would push you in front of a bus. Yeah, they'd push you in front of a bus. If you're ever found out, and when that happens, near a bus line. Whether our man was still in the area remained to be seen, although I doubted it. He was much too clever. However, an off chance existed that he got his kicks out of watching us arrive on the scene, come up with next to nothing and stand there scratching our heads in bewilderment. Patience was the name of the game. Sooner or later, he's show himself. Once we figured out what kind of fish we were after, we could prepare the bait to lure

him in. However, at this point, I was working alone. Local agencies had their hands full. And if they hadn't identified the victim by now, it was doubtful they ever would. Casey had also ordered me to investigate in secret, which meant I was unable to draw on any outside support or even to make inquiries through official agencies. That's why you can't check, you guys. Yeah, that's one of the many reasons you can't check. I do love that he has, by his own words, at least a week late, like this dead body has already been picked up by the authorities.

And now he thinks someone is just doing a week-long stakeout just to see a CIA contractor come and, like, go through this door and like look at where the dead body was. I'm sorry, a week long, spending a week in St. Louis, you would be dead.

No one. No one's strong enough to do it. In frozen hell? Yeah. He's frozen in the... He's frozen inside the devil's jaws right now. I like this because it sort of betrays Frank's main character syndrome, how he's like, even in his little fantasy of investigating a died body, he's like, oh, that son of a bitch is watching me?

And never thinks, like, is that possible? Would that be silly? Some bitches across the street in that 100-year-old ice cream parlor, enjoying a float at my expense. Fucking laughing at me, Frank Dukes! I decided the best I could do would be to make some discreet inquiries among the locals. and check any nearby pawn shops in hopes of possibly tracking down the murder weapon. So, yeah, great detective work.

Wow. You think you're after a KGB spy who's so hard up for cash, he's going to pawn the murder weapon. I don't need this gun anymore. I killed that guy, that nameless 20-year-old in St. Louis. My rare Russian gun that stands out amongst a thousand murders. Yes. I'll just pawn it for some cats. God damn.

I just need a bus ticket home. bro. This gun's hot. Did you just murder somebody with this? I cannot give you 20 bucks for this, pal. This is 1970s St. Louis. I don't think I have any buyers for a KGB issue pistol. And also, huh? Who are you? All right, best I can do is $7. I cruised the area and circled the first shop I saw a few times to soak up some warmth from the car's heater. The bells overhead were too cold to jangle when I came through the door. The proprietor, a large black man, wearing a red and black stocking cap perched

above his bulbous ears, sat in an overstuffed chair next to a space heater that turned up full blast. Even so, the place was freezing. I imagine he turned himself around every so often to thaw at one side of his body and keep the other from toasting. What are we doing? What are we doing here?

This was a spy story. And now you're talking about how he'd rotistering about like a fat black guy, rotisserie himself. He's got that butt's got to be cold. I bet he has to turn around and warm up his butt. I'm here about spy work, I tell him. Get that cold ass up. He got really lucky that he caught him facing the front and not the back of the store.

He just turns around and face the back wall half the day. He's just rotating throughout the conversation. I love this so much because just when I started to get bored of him doing some kind of spy talk, it turns to like, the bells are too cold to jangle. And I'm like, hold on a second. That's not a thing. And then he's like, rotissory cooking this. And I'm like, what?

With his fat, fat, disgusting ears, the big fatty ears on the other side of his head. As a writer, I don't give a lot of, I guess I'm not like a writing teacher. But I have helped people. I've edited articles. And I do think you should go in and just take about every 20% of the words out. And I feel like if Frank Dukes took that advice and went through his writing, he'd be like, yeah, do his ears have to be boldness? Does that help?

Does he have to be a large black man? What does that say about me that I made a note of that? I think if we're taking things out, definitely, definitely, I guess do the ears. Leave the rotissory ass in there. Leave that. 100%. That part is good. That he has to rotate to keep his ass warm.

That gives it its soul. That's the soul of the book right there. That is. Yeah. Or maybe just move bulbous from the ears to the body. So he's got a bulbous body. And then. He's got to keep his bulbous ass warm.

You can smell him like cooking. The swammer in here? Is it just your ass? Frank Dukes, you son of a bitch. Oh, you'd probably have a cool nickname. A cool 17th nickname. Laser Knight, you're back. I saw the movie they tried to make of you

with John Claude Van Dam pretending to be you. Ha. Dark goofy. Because he's like goofy, but dark. That's Frank Dukes' nickname. Yeah, dark goofy. I'm going to the Disney thing. The place didn't have much in stock.

The usual amplifiers, a couple of cheap electric guitars, worn out power tools, and lots of loose junk underfoot. The room itself was dilapidated, the dirty yellow paint peeled from the walls, and squares of what at one time were probably fancy decorative ceiling tins dangled dangerously overhead. Okay.

What really sets the scene. The proprietor gave me a disinterested glance from under swollen eyelids. He didn't bother to get up when I approached the counter. And I didn't blame him. I wouldn't have moved away from the heater either unless I had to. Looking for something? Maybe. I'm looking for guns.

Not everyday shit. I'm a collector. Got anything unusual? He gave me a look that said, yeah, right. I don't have nothing illegal, he answered. I grinned. Of course not. I wouldn't want anything like that.

I like being able to show off my collection, but, you know, sometimes interesting faces get around. Right now, I'm looking for Russian pistols. Russian! He finally came alive. What kind of dumb fuck are you thinking you'll find Russian shit here? He grabbed the arms. Can we just pause right there and just let that sit for a minute?

I know he's going to come up with something on a reason that this is cool, but like, I might believe the interaction up until now. What are you? Stupid fucking piece of shit? Hold on, you just say I had the fat islands? Yeah, that's wrong with you. Boldest ears and fat eyes. Every part of this guy is fat individually, but not the collective, which is weird.

His earlobes really let themselves go. fucking fat fuck he grabbed the arms and raised himself out of the chair not until he stood up did I realize how big the man was he looked like the kind of guy who walked around thumping his palm with a baseball bat

that in his hands looked like a chopstick wow you got a pawn ogre you got a chilly pawn ogre he can't even play baseball he gets up his bat To be clear, he doesn't have a baseball bat.

No, but if he did. He's just imagining that he would be very threatening if he did. He just looked at this man's swollen hand and it's like, oof. He looks like, what is that from repeatedly tapping a baseball bat in your palm like a cartoon character? Because that's the kind of guy I think you are. What the fuck? I'm just a turkey man getting roasted over here, pal. What the fuck?

Anybody try to unload anything odd in the past week or two? He eyed me distrustfully, but to my surprise, answered in the affirmative. Names toots, I told him. Wait, hold on. Did you read that right? Names toots, I told him. Frank and Frank. Frank took, looked at this, trying to be taken seriously, looked at this, this chilly shwarma ogre

and said, my name's toot. No, no, names toots. I think the guy that sold to him an unusual gun was named Toots. What? Like somebody did come in here with a gun and said, said, please buy my murder weapon. I'm my name's Toots. And he said, and he didn't.

Classic Toots. So Toots is still out there running around with the murder weapon. Okay. Names Toots, I told him. Now what the hell you think I want that useless piece of shit for? You think I'm stupid? Hell, the pun, broker growled. The piece weighed a fucking ton.

I can tell the big man didn't like this Toots guy, whoever he was, and he'd like nothing better than to cause him a little trouble. You know where I might locate the Toots? Give the bad guy a better name, Frank. Like, it's not going to feel great when you start, like, strong-arming Toots. It's true. It's so weird thing. We're going to mentally picture him like strong-arming,

one of the little rascals. It's so weird that he would go in there and be like, I'd like to sell this gun. My name is Toots. My name is Toots. If that affects the price at all, my name is Toots. Would you pay more for Toots' Russian gun? I would.

In a video game, if that was like a legendary item, Toots' Russian pistol. Plus 50% melee damage. Yeah, it's a bonus to conk. No, I think it'd be like plus 25% racial damage against Asians, like based on what we know so far. Yeah. That incorporates the story in the tooltip.

That's really good. Hanks out at the Red Ace when he ain't got anything better to do, which is most of the time. He gave me directions. The place wasn't far, though anywhere was too far in this weather. He retreated to his heater and I headed back into the cold. The sky was swollen and gray. Snow weather. It would be dirty snow here, though.

He just can't help himself. Everything's just got a little bit too much. Everything's fat. Everything's that fucking fat sky. God damn. But like he ain't got anything better to do, which is most of the time. Like, fuck you, dude. Beneath this disgusting pudgy bridge.

On the short distance to the bar, I wondered whether the gun was an oversight, a false clue, attempting to lead us in the wrong direction with an ultimate purpose, or the killer's attempt to set someone else up for the crime and divert attention from himself. He just, he has his conspiracy he's building in his head. about a fucking most made-up childlike story. Like, there's a crime scene. Oh, look, he was shot with a gun. I will go next door to say, hey, where is gun?

He says, oh, I do not have gun, but Toots has gun. Oh, could this all be a trap? Like, probably, if any of this was real, it's clearly a trap for the world's dumbest idiot. I might have missed something, but I don't think he did the very, like, obvious thing, which is to say, like, I'd been looking for days when I stumbled across the pawn shop. I think, like, Mountain Monster style, it's, the first place he checked. Exactly.

According to his story, he just went next door. He's like, anybody trying to sell you a gun suspiciously right after a gunshot? You heard a gunshot and then comical footsteps. Here's his current location. He's also next door here. Yeah, he's not far. Those were his exact words. It's the closest pawn shop is what he said.

You don't want to set in the early stages of the game. You don't want to set the quest markers too far apart. otherwise you're never going to get Toots' special pistol. Exactly. Too many fat things along the way. Big fat, bush. He says, I almost automatically ruled out the first possibility. Our man was too methodical and moved too smoothly in the depths, remaining just out of sight.

I laughed at myself in my reference to, our man. I had begun to assume that connections existed and the common denominator was the guy who was probably laughing his head off right now and feeling damn superior to the agency and whomever else he carried. some grudge against. I laughed to myself to picture him laughing at me. That's what he says. Yeah. He probably feels superior superior superior to these guys. Or somebody else he might know unrelated to me.

Should I delete that last part? No, leave it in the book, Frank. You're the best. Actually, he was probably banking on both the second and third possibilities to pursue his agenda. He wanted to provide any necessary cover for himself, particularly with local agencies. I also suspected that he operated according to a larger plan. Perhaps our shadowy killer was a vet, most likely Nam, special forces, someone who hated Asians and the Soviets. Perhaps the plan had bubbled up from the bloody recesses of his warped mind, a scheme by which he could exact some sort of twisted revenge and also implicate those commie bastards in Russia.

One thing was sure. The killer wasn't just naturally devious. He had also been trained in being devious. This is natural talent, deviousness. So it's nature versus nurture. Yeah, and he's got fucking both. He's been natured and nurtured. In deviousness. He found a place where a dead body once was. Nobody knows who's the dead body is.

And he's, hold on, by killing some random guy in St. Louis, Frank is like unraveling the conspiracy of he's trying to frame and. make look bad all of Russia and turn them against all of Asia because he killed an Asian guy. Like the whole continent is just going to be like, they killed one of ours.

Fucking Russia. Time for war. It is the most indoor kid fucking main character syndrome logic. Like everything I'm looking at is the most important thing in the universe. He's the best. I love him so much. Just both

He was both kinds of devious. I love that maybe he used a ghostwriter for some of it, but I don't think so. I think like it lays bare his like personality disorders too clearly. Like this is, it's so the work of a professional liar, this book. If he used a ghost writer on this, we need to find that ghost writer. It was fish. And it hired them immediately. I agree completely.

But where can we find them? You know what? I'm going to go to the nearest bookstore and say, if you met any weird writers lately? Yeah, guy named Toots. Also, what's up with your eyes and ears? Came in here with a fresh smoking book. Ponded off on me. The book was weird. Russian, probably.

The bar didn't look very enticing, but right now, it was all I had to go on. This dusty, rundown joint was a far cry from Franco's bar, my favorite hangout in Milan. A decrepit pool table with torn felt sagged at the rear of the bar. Despite the cold outside, the place still smelled of mold. The pale winter light that forced its way through the dusty windows, Blanched everything so the interior looked even more ancient than it was. Dust and smoke hung in the light. The old guys inside were amazed that a white Jew boy would dare come in alone.

They obviously thought I was either a fool or trying to pull off something I had no business attempting. Like, no, dude, people are allowed to go into bars, man. Trying to pull off something I had no business attempting. Listen to this, I said, preparing my tight five on race relations. I'm going to do the accent. They couldn't believe I was doing it. What a courageous Jewish man, they thought each of them. Oh, he must be up to some devious plan, the others thought.

You guys know Eddie Murphy's raw? I'm going to do five minutes. I imagine it cutting back to the actual scene of him entering the bar and just no one even looking in his direction. And then in his mind, he's like, they're all wondering about me. Yeah, totally. What are you guys talking about? Me? Who are you, bro?

I do think this is how that would play out. But I, once again, like St. Louis, I don't believe he ever accidentally walked into a black bar. I don't think he ever did that. He doesn't say, I mean, yeah, I guess that's what we're supposed to take from it, that they see him as a white Jewish man and they're like, he don't belong here. So I suppose it must be a black bar, a black owned business, whatever, which means Toots, I guess, is a black guy, which I feel like good, good for that Poncha motor, for not including race in his description of Toots.

It will be a little weird since he's also a black man. Or maybe he's a Chinese man playing a Russian man playing a black man. In order to turn the blacks against the Chinese. I bet his fucking forehead is so bulbous. I don't know who I'm looking for, but he's fat. He's just got fat parts. He's anybody cobbled together from butter. I parked myself on a stool at the bar next to a guy who looked like he'd lived most of his life right in that spot.

The old man's smile revealed yellow to kang teeth, sent in. white gomes. I can smell his bad breath where I sat. He hacked up a wad of phlegm and spat it to the floor where it lay quivering against the sawdust and dirt. It's the old west. This fucking Harconen monster is said next to just squirting creatures. Those are like little distraction monsters. Sodustian dirt. It was a living slug. Had my name. I knew. It just I let it fester. It started to grow into a second version of the man. Everybody that's not a sexy woman is like a disgusting piece of shit.

Yes. That's what I'm learning from this. Like an old, just an old piece of shit I could have shattered with my hands. That's how he does so well in this world. He's crushing ass because he's the only like human-shaped man in this world. If we were in a bathroom, I'd smash his head through a wall. He looked old and frail. Maybe some of his records from Bloodsports start to make sense if you picture that it was like an all senior competition.

He counts flem kicks. If he kicks your phlegm, that's technically a second knockout. We maybe have been assuming the wrong thing. Was there like a nursing home at one point named Calhoun Wald City? He just went there, fucked up all the old people. He told the front desk, hey, I'm a juggler. I'm here to, like, entertain the old folks. Okay, we don't have a juggler scheduled.

And you never will again. Death touch just bashed his way through. Bones shattering. Chong Lee was 104. Who are you? Are you my grandson? Shut up, you're fat. Your goddamn right I am.

With your bulbous ears. Okay, I don't... Okay, we're talking about the quivering flams still. I don't think the action was directed at me. This is the only action he's ever encountered he did not think was directed at him. Yeah, it was. That one was, though. Yeah, this is about you, Frank.

Okay, I think that spitting was probably what he did when he didn't know what else to do. Wow. Yeah. That explains it. That's why a man spit at you, Frank. That's a great psychological read. That's the kind of guy he was, I knew, after meeting him for negative one seconds.

I haven't talked to him yet, so we haven't actually met. But he doesn't know what else to do, is he spits. Are you spits, I asked him? Oh, I fucking love this book. Okay, with the exception of certain known gangster hangouts in the mid-1980s, such as Club Sabra in Dusseldorf, the Hollywood portrayal of bars full of closed-mouthed customers who eventually jumped the insistent, often obstinate hero,

trying to ferret out information bears little resemblance to reality in my experience. People can't wait to talk about what they know, but even more about what they don't know. Just look at the glut of television talk shows bursting with people so willing to talk that they're even willing to expose themselves as utter fools on national television. Is that all one sentence? Is that all one sentence? It was.

That was all one sentence. He went, Wow. He went from I know the most elite spy bars, and unlike those, what Hollywood tells you what's wrong, because real bars will talk to you, unlike reality television. What the fuck are you doing? Yep.

It's just two or three too many things. Buy a guy a drink in an inner city bar, and he'll suddenly be your best buddy. He'll tell you everything he saw and provide so much extra information that you risk getting buried. You won't be able to shut them up, get a small group going, and they've all got an opinion on some inside angle or piece of information. More often than not, a friendly debate offers up gossip that can somehow put everything else in perspective.

Unlike Dusseldorf or Milan, East St. Louis was far from being an international scene. This group was composed of hangers-on. Old drunks and a couple of small-time punks who wouldn't know what to do with the big boys if they met them. I went up to those pucks. You just met a big boy, I told him. What are you going to do? They spit because they didn't know what else to do. I passed a quick but thorough eye over the joint,

sizing up everyone's location and possible escape routes first. Then the location of anything I might use as a weapon, if necessary. Just a classic yellow belt move. It's just highlighting objects around the room. Spit, can be used as weapon? No, no, much too soft. ears no no no far too boldless the clientele were definitely interested in me but they weren't going to start talking first cold huh i said to the old guy next to me he smiled and then pretended to ignore me i don't think they're pretending if i was in a bar especially the kind of day drinking bar and somebody in the middle of winter went up to me and cold huh i would be like i'm not putting out i'm not it's something like

kind of bar. Yeah, man. This isn't going to go the direction that you want. I can't afford any cocaine. Look at the sadness of my condition. I don't want to buy a hand job or crystal meth. It's cold, huh? I acted as though nothing was unusual about my being in a rundown hole where no lone man

of my particular color would go if he had a brain in his head. Yep. Yep. Black bar. He just had found the courage to say it. It's explicit now. Beer, please. I told the bartender,

who had kept this distance, but glanced my way, and one for my friend here. That perked the old guy up. Damn, it's cold, he said. To no one in particular, although I knew it was for my benefit. This is the response to the thing you said,

you fucking idiot. Ah, that's for me. That was for me, I knew. Savoring the warmth of his words. Beer, please. I'm not skipping ahead. This is Frank's next line. Came here to see Toots, I said.

As if he, that's how he eased his way into this delicate information gathering. Cold, huh? You know who gets cold often? Toots. My friend Toots always complaining about his chilly ears. Okay. I came down to see Toots, I said, as if he had actually asked me my business. The bartender stuck a beer in front of my partner.

Well, that's okay by me, he weased. Toots should be indirectly. If you say weas, you know he's an old-timey prospector. You know that's the way Frank envisioned this guy. Toots didn't come in directly enough to suit me. Like, again, this is Mountain Monster Rules. You're right. He went to the first place, to the first bar, to the first guy.

And he's like, yep, Toots will be right here. Yeah, he's got no patience for making this like a longer quest. This is just marker to marker to marker. I had to endure at least an hour of attempting to start up conversational. all of which seemed to fizzle after a few exchanges. After a while, however, and after buying everybody in the joint, several rounds of beers, I got them debating a topic. I should have started right from the beginning.

Sex. Some things about human nature don't change, no matter where in the world you are. Once they were going, I merely had to sit back, listen attentively, and pretend I was actually part of the conversation. Pretend that I was part of a friend's group. I was glad when they forgot me. he's just listening to a bunch of gross old dudes talk about sex and he's like, I did this.

I did it. He bought them all so many rounds of beers and he don't want anything to do with him. That's my move. I'm going to go. That's how I make friends in a new town. I go into a bar. I buy everyone in at eight rounds. And then I go, hey, how about sex?

Not with me, but in general. Taking the temperature on sex. About 20 minutes later, Two young punks came in along with a blast of cold air. The door slammed shut behind them. Hey, Toots, my friend greeted them. You should bring these white boys in here more often. Sure would keep my throat lubricated.

Oh, no. You guys want to talk about sex? Get that throat lubricated. You don't believe how fun this guy is. He just says stuff like titties and sits back and lets the fireworks happen. Can't breathe. I left off at throat lubricated. Yeah, yeah, you did.

You left off at throat lubrication. Mr. Yellow Teeth cackled and spat another wad on the floor. That was for you. Oh, it's the fucking, it's the fucking best. That's what I'm going to call beer from now on. Get me a little more throat lubrication, please. I don't think I've skipped a word in this chapter. No, why would you?

Why was the correct move? 100%. The newcomers spotted me at the ball. the one with the hat looked at the other and jerked his head in the direction of the door. So that's all of these descriptions everyone in the book gets. And here comes two guys, they're punks, one hatted, and that's it. And these are actually the most major characters get. The other guy was, we know he's like an old-timey prospector who spits slugs with his own name.

This guy gets hat. This just guy with hat, guy without hat. They were out in a flash. I pushed my untouched beer toward yellow teeth and followed. The wind struck me in the face as I emerged back on the street. The whole town seemed to shiver. The streetlight at the end of the block swayed, almost bobbing against the dark background. I was like, Frank, you are in a foot chase, buddy.

You got distracted, buddy. This is a memento foot chase. He's running along and just like watching the breeze. Isn't it beautiful the way the breeze plays with the streetlights? Oh, shit, dudes. I stopped to sketch the drabby city skis. Ah, the memories this evokes from a time forgotten. Oh, fuck.

Right, the hat guy. Hey, wait up, I called after them. Where are you going so fast? I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Why don't you come back in where it's warm? And I'll buy you a beer. I'm time for you, asshole. The guy who mouthed off was young, 22 at most.

But his face was already worn out. Yes, somebody used that face a lot. Let me get you some throat lubrication for that. used face, I asked. His nose had been flattened. He wore a greasy, knitted hat, pulled down over his ears. So I assume they're bulbous, but this is hatted guy. Yeah.

Greasy. We now have a description. So now he'll describe the other guy. The other guy wore a stained, hooded jacket that was so thin in places that it seemed to suck in the wind. So that's our two guys. Wow. He paints a picture.

Said there, suckin wind. That any way to talk to a guy who offers to buy you a beer? she yet the only reason young white guys come over here is for dope i could tell he had something heavy down the front of his pants by the way he moved it was so fat uh pulsingly fat it's a shame about his used face because i was interested in that under curage yeah he's a bit of a butterface but also butter in the pants fellow big boy Frank says this. Got a load in your pants, I asked. No, he did not. Let's talk about sex.

He did not say that. That's what it says. It's what he claims he said. And then I immediately regretted it. Just the rest of this chapter is him walking away awkwardly as they fucking die laughing. I need more training. Does he next say, do you want one? Is that his follow up comment?

You're close. You're pretty close. Got to load your pants, I asked. A lot bigger than the one you're carrying pencil, dick, white, motherfucker. That's how, he added a hyphen to motherfucker. He demanded that you read it in that way. It was important to him. They had picked the wrong guy for those types of comments.

I could have told them that I knew all about racism. I had generations of it stored up in my blood. My parents had been victims. Their families in prison tortured and executed because of the race and nothing more. Give me the coat, the young man demanded. And thank God he did, because I think Frank was about to go off for another four pages of that. A black guy called him the motherfucker like a Klingon would say it. And he was like, I know instantly I knew more about racism than the American black man.

Yep. How dare this guy bring up someone's race. It's like all Frank talks about. I don't think the phrasing, I've got more racism stored in my body is what you meant. Like I've been storing up like a battery ready to unleash. I agree. It's a troubling way to put it. Okay, give me the coat. The young guy demanded. His companion still hadn't said a word.

Maybe he didn't know how to talk. Just a hat. It wasn't even a man. Just a hat using some corpses as locomotion. Oh, it's an orco. It could just be an orco, yeah. I said, give me the coat. Motherfucker. He struggled a moment before pulling a pistol from under his jacket and belt.

Come on. I'm getting cold waiting. They thought I was unarmed and mistook my relaxed posture for being off guard. I slowly removed the coat and held it out toward the guy with the gun. He stepped forward, reaching out to grab it. Mistake! The coat dropped from my fingers. I grabbed his wrist before his mouth could drop open in surprise. His arms snapped with a sickening sound of poolstick makes.

When you snap it over your knee. Who knew if they had friends nearby? I wasn't going to take any chances, though. I had my most dependable weapon besides my body out in a flash, a credit card folded in half, with the two corners bent back on one end to form a tip, midget, and evil enough to cut and gouge. No. He's going to do a, he's going to do a Bert Reynolds heat. Yes, he's doing a Bert Reynolds heat.

Charge your face, put your face on credit. Okay, now here's one of my favorite facts about this book is I got this used. The last sentence was underlined. There's two underlined sentences that's in the entire book. There's no markings except for on this page. And one of them was, I had my most dependable weapon. Like, someone was reading this and they're like, oh, I got to fucking kill a guy with the credit card. This is fucking sweet.

Can we actually hear that again? I want to make sure I'm going to picture right. The underline started here. I had my most dependable weapon besides my body out in a flash. A credit card folded in half with the two corners bent back on one end to form a tip, rigid and evil enough to cut and gouge. The two corners bent back and one in to form a tip? What the fuck?

I think that's so instead of sliding out of your fingers, you're holding it. It's stopped and then it kills their neck instead of like bouncing harmlessly off their neck. Because you need like a hilt. Yeah, I'm having such a hard time picturing how he's going to kitty cat scratch them with this credit card. Like, how are you holding it? You've got like, do you've got it in like a three finger little tiny grip? You're just going to like poke and proud with them. I mean, clearly they have polio because you snap that guy just by touching his wrist.

He didn't describe any action after that. He just reached out and grabbed his wrist and the man's arm shattered into powder. Yeah. His mouth didn't even open. Fighting fucking draggers out here. Just shattering into bone. I love that underline so much because it means somebody else tried it. Like you don't you don't underline that and then not try it.

You're right. No, they've, they ruined all their credit cards. They're just hoping to murder somebody. None of these are right. Maybe they made them different in the 70s. They were thicker and, like, had blades. Because otherwise, there are multiple instances of people using credit cards for fighting, and that shouldn't be. I keep making those little pyramids that tell you what your future husband's going to be and where you're going to live.

Pick a number. They just tell me my credit score over and over again. I did. Drawing a spurt of blood from my attacker's forehead just above his eyes. that was a warning. I didn't want to blind him unless I had to. If necessary, his eyes didn't stand a chance. I love like Tart.

My opponent is only his eyeballs. I got no problem with the rest of him. Those eyeballs are going to, we're going to tango. Still, blinding my opponent was a step before going to the throat, which the credit card could easily rip wide open. his companion attacks. I popped a blow to his left side at the base of his ribcage, enough to jar his spleen, but not rupture it.

Killing them would only draw attention. Yes, he got just a baby dimmock. Yeah, he's got dimmock. Like, I hit him the spleen, but I was really, and then his fucking gallbladder exploded. It takes a lot of training. You kill a lot of dudes. Well, I mean, you'd use a chimpanzee for training,

but like you hit the spleen and if it explodes, you're like, now your martial arts instructor is like, now you keep you don't want to explode the spleen frank just a forest of dead chimps behind his house look upon your failures frank this is the journey you went upon to learn how to fight this is why the new jersey chimpanzee is extinct because of you frank docks all these credit cards sticking out of their body took way forever to refine that technology but i got it killing them would only draw attention and my job was to remain in the shadows besides any information. In fights, such as this one, the greatest difficulty lay in controlling anger.

However, much of my training had involved developing and honing physical, mental, and emotional discipline. Get carried away, and I could easily become lethal. These guys weren't good enough for me to have to kill them in order to remain safe. Don't get me wrong. Any opponent can be dangerous, and it's essential to never underestimate that potential. That sort of underestimation can take you to the undertaker. Being prepared for any contingency keeps you alive. I always carried my arsenal to make sure I stayed that way. His arsenal in this case is a folded up credit card. A folded up credit card.

An arsenal. Maybe he's got, he could have really good credit. He could have like six credit cards out there. Oh, I keep them, I make sure all my payments are on time. Otherwise, they'll confiscate my weapons. Dwight WCA card. I know he's a man, but he's got the card to get in. Yeah, they have to let you in.

It's not what you think. He does it so he can watch them. shower. And learn techniques, battle techniques, shower style. Okay. Besides credit cards, my arsenal included many unlikely weapons. One of my old buddies had dubbed me the man of steel, but not because I was any Superman. I just happened to carry a hell of a lot of steel with me. I kept the steel comb handy. In skilled hands, the comb could be more painful and debilitating than a knife, and raking could seriously injure an attacker. In more potentially lethal cases, a steel pen could do a damage as well. And ever since

Ed Parker had taught me how to use a shoe as a weapon, I had won shoes with special steel heels that could stun even the strongest opponent when slipped onto my hands, like gloves, or grasped by the toe and wielded like a club. Ed Parker

shoe storm. And then just flailing wildly with shoes on his hands. Oh, fucking Frank. Ed Parker invented putting shoes on your hands like a child. and then attacking this fucking donkey style frank only use it when you must it's so crazy to picture a man with shoes running to him and attacking people

just as quickly as possible taking off his shoes putting them on his hands on the fucking streets of st louis barefoot in the freezing cold running like you would take such pity on that man you would not fight him like oh this i'm sorry i didn't realize you were that kind of crazy i thought you were no it's fine it's fine it's fine honky. I just want to picture like, I had special shoes commissioned with steel heels, which means he had

to go to a guy. He had to go to a cobbler and be like, I need you to build me shoes with steel heels. And the cobbler would say, that's a terrible idea. It's going to hurt so bad everywhere you walk. And he said, yeah, but I'm going to use them as weapons. Like, oh, okay, you're going to kick people with him.

No, that's a fool's move. Ed Parker's shoestorm. Okay, before we go, I said that there was two sets of underlines in this book, and the others happened on the bottom of this page. The previous owner underlined a steel comb, skilled hands the comb could, painful and debilitating than a knife and raking could seriously, an attacker, damage as well, shoe is a weapon, special steel heels,

stunned, grasped by the toe, wielded like a club. So that is. Somebody else tried it. Somebody else. Somebody at home came to their local cobbler and said, I just read in a book that you can put steel heels on shoes and use them as battering mittens like a cat, like a cat would fight. Like a declawed cat, just lots of batting is what I want to do. What a great show.

We almost made it through one chapter, guys. Congratulations. I'm so glad we kept going. Me too. The comb is underrated too. I'm going to brush a guy? I'm going to brush him. He gave me the old brush off and I gave him the old brush on.

Also, he had that and he still ruined his credit card. He already had a steel comb. Blind people with that. For an exact, like spiritual, not an exact play-by-play, but a spiritual equivalent to this scene. Everybody go look up Bert Reynolds' heat. Just look up fight scene, Bert Reynolds, Heat. Just look up Heat, the movie.

And then you'll get the Bert Reynolds. film. Yeah, that's the one. That's the one you'll get. Welcome World Warriors to the second annual hot dog Kumete Supreme Division. You are all here because you are the best fighters your country, school,

or local strip mall can produce. Let's get this roll call started. Adrian H. It's like you're fighting frog style. I don't know that one. A lot of jumps, I presume. Alex Nolingberg. Un-Andi. Armando Nava, you're fighting crane style. That's a

Classic, Notorious Warriors, the Cranes. Brandon Garlock, Rockway, famously loves the meat millie. Christopher Worthing. See you're fighting crab style. Nice. Dan B. Dusty's Red Title. Elevator.

Fate elevator of the name. Can you define for me what magical morality elevator style is? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Ah, that's fucked up. God have mercy on your... opponents. Elizabeth Shope. Eric Christian Berg says here you're also fighting crab style. Don't worry. No rule against pinch it. Jello. Greg Cunningham.

Alpha scientist, Javo. Uh, you appear to be some sort of shaved beast entered as a joke. Uh, looking around here actually, let's do this all at once. Please roar or shriek if you're actually a shaved beast entered as a joke. Got it. Toasty God. Matt Riley, Devon, the Rogue Supreme, Timi Leahy, Mr. Bob Graham, going to need you all to step out of line, but good news, we will be holding an all-naked novelty beast division next month. Get your shot. Grumpy Phoenix.

Harvey Pengweeney, you will be fighting using Uninvited Uncle style? Gross, man. I'll be a law against you, people. Up to, but there's not. Welcome to the Kuma Tag. Hunk. James Boy. Jared Mountain Man.

Jeff O'Rasker, you... Are you also using crab style? No, no, it's not a problem. We just try to mix it up a little more here in the Kumitae. John Dean, John McCammon, John Minkoff, all good? Joshua Graves, you... Did you not hear me when I asked all-saved novelty beasts to vacate the line? Oh, you're not shaved.

Oh, you have alopecia, but you are a beast. Let me... No, no, you're right. Nothing in the rule book. You air but a dut. me, that's a fair play. Justin B. Katzat Studios. Ken Paisley.

Says here you'll be using gun style. Now does that mean you just brought a gun? No, no rule against it. I'm just, I'm honestly amazed. Nobody tried it before. Uh, K&M. Lisa. Leopard Queen, you're fighting leopard style.

Love to see the classics again. I am curious to see how that will counter gun, though. Am Jahi Chappelle. Mark? Max Boreoy. Michael Lair, you'll be using insane. I don't know this one. Insane Vehicle Style?

Oh, I'm sorry. Michael Lair is an insane vehicle and we'll be using American Fender Kenpo Karate. Gotcha. Mort. Indeed. Neil Bailey. Neil Schaefer.

Again, using Crabb style. What's going on? Folks, is there a new dojo in town or what? Must be good. Nick Levino. Obsolite. Says here you don't have a style and you're just gonna fucking flip out when you get in there. That's a solid play.

Orn Re Weevil, Ozzie Olin, Patrick Hertz is going to try negotiating. All right. Pee Wee's Uncle, practical ZFS, re-brandrew, red wine time, you're using drunken Kung Fu. Okay, oh, what was that? One more time? I can't, I can't understand. Oh, no Kung Fu, you're just drunk. Got it.

Re-A-Nit. Russell Fowman, Sam Cotnick, Sean Logan Chase uses human tornado style. Hell yeah, man, can you do the noises? That's great, it cracks me up every time. Seed. Taters' Tales. Thomas Cavatzos, you're using clone Jutsu. I didn't know that was real. It's not? It's from a cartoon?

Then what are you gonna... All right, never mind, your business. Tommy G. Felo. Yvonne Clapham. Zach and Eva. I'm sorry, Zach and Eva, no tag teams in the Supreme Division. You're conjoined.

Can I see where? Oh, excuse me, that makes me the pervert. I'm the pervert for trying to do my job. All right, all right, you know, you have it your way. Super knot. Your crab style. Hold on, hold on, there's something wrong with the rest of my list. Jaber, Al Aden, Spotty reception, Dean Costello.

All crabs? You are. Booster. Brian Sailor, Crab, Crab, Crab, Crab, Crab, All the way down, all right. Whalen Russell, Crab, Elliot Watson, Crab, Neckon 104, Crab, David Schult. What's that? Mud Flat Fiddler style.

Good, I was worried these were all gonna be, oh, that's a type of crab style. Okay, Space Jam fan, you crab, you crabbing? Okay, Victor Malavankan, no need to answer, I can see you're scuttling right now. Craig Lemoy. Also crab? Also crab. Oh, Fancy Shark, that's more like it. I got you down as shark style in the fancy subdivision.

Good on ya, pal. What, what's that? No, you cannot change crab style this late in the game. I don't care how much fun it looks like they're having. All right, all right folks, settle down, settle down. Let's get this Kumete started. If you'll all head in through these doors, single file, and hey, hey, craps, craps, craps, craps, crabs, craps, hey, stop it.

Crabs, stop pulling each other back. One of you has to go first.