[Cut to a mysterious mountaintop, somewhere. We can’t tell you where. Might be Asia, might be America, and actually, because the Freedom of Information could be invoked and cost us money, I should tell you. It’s not a mountain, it’s the Frank J. Heimlich Memorial Tall Building in Wyomingville, Wyoming, and below it is the world’s only 87-story Greyhound station. Hospitals sadly refuse to rent out office space to the Chartered Shaolin Brotherhood of the Catchable Ambulance.
Here we find Kwai Chiang Siegel, who is a ninja and an attorney by trade. It’s what happens when you can’t decide whether to be Chinese or Jewish, and your parents were one of each and damn good ones, too. He is instructing some trainees on the art of the deadly SLAPP of Much Harassment.
KCS: Howard J. Howe IV, let’s see how you would handle this situation. A transvestite hooker from that dump below us wanted to sue the Yugo Motor Company for putting all those suggestive women in the ads with those little deathtrap vehicles, so he purchased said tin-can with an eye for the poontang pie . . .
HHIV: For one, it’s not “transvestite hooker”, it’s “transsexual sex worker”. Political correctness is the lifeblood of vital litigatory fees, sensei.
KCS: Good, grasshopper, continue.
HHIV: And the Yugo Motor Company was owned by a country that no longer exists, so we have to sue Slobodan Milosevic in Belgium. Can I go, sir, I collect Belgian things . . . pretty Belgian things*?
KCS: FOCUS! This is hypothetical, grasshopper! There is no such case . . . Yet, Linda’s not sure about his ability to pay!
HHIV: And that lesbian redhead from BOB on Comedy Central will sue you if you say some wrestler’s catchphrase again, sensei.
KCS: Impressive, but not impressive enough. You . . . Hey, aren’t you Rob Cesternino? I never accepted you.
RC: But I’m famous! And supposedly highly entertaining!
[The other trainees quickly toss the Survivor washout out of the Tower before anyone realizes he was ever here. This isn’t the Unemployment Cheq Kliq, you know, if such a gag ever existed, which it didn’t. Kerry Earnhardt and Siegfried Fischbacher aren’t showing up.]
KCS: Next . . . A. Fiona Ballbricker, Esquirette. Ms. Ballbricker, Esq, say you represented the National Alliance of Crockery Manufacturers, in their battle to remove the phrase “crock of shit” from the dictionary. What then?
AFB,Esq.: I take my pay upfront, sensei.
KCS: Of course.
[The door-gong rings, and an oddly foreboding, yet still representative of a hot legal secretary who wears her Manolos to yoga class, not that Siegel approves of that decidedly non-Buddhist, non-Jewish bullshit, mind you, speaks.]
Secretary: 397 men with oddly constructed snowboards here to see you, Mr. Siegel.
Siegel: Is one of them wearing a red bandanna and mugging for the cameras?
Secretary: Yes, sir, the only one with a real snowboard.
KCS: Throw him out, please. And I mean, THROW him out.
[The door opens and 397, uh, 396 ninjas with oddly constructed snowboards come in. These snowboards are wack, yo. Some of them are made of like, construction paper and shit, some of them are aluminum foil, a couple are made out of repurposed Atari Combat cartridges, and one is even made out of Play-Doh. Then someone, who vaguely resembles a ninja, and has a surfboard, of all things, sneaks in . . .]
KCS: Mr. Cesternino . . .
RC: It’s Neige 299 now . . . The Collective have claimed me as their own. The Neige Collective owns you!
Neige 1: Shut up, 299. I am suing Brawlers on a Budget, who just received a show on the Comedy Central TV network . . . I know, you’ve never heard of it, but believe me, it exists . . . And, this BOB organization and its BigBoss employed a rogue member of our Collective . . . Someone who makes 299 look like me, the Neigefather . . . This man, who called himself Neige 13, despite the fact that number remains perpetually unassigned due to my triskaidekaphobia, defamed the collective by saying things like . . .
You jobbed Neige Thirteen! And your bookers didn’t even handle me correctly! I, Neige Thirteen, am not gay, gey, hgey, or geigh, and my snowboard is not made out of pencil lead, and I do not suck, and my strategy is superior to anything your feeble minds could come up with, and I am the God of Wrestling, and I know every technical detail of wrestling, and you don’t, and yet you’re running a wrestling promotion, and you make Neige 13 sick!
And so forth. And as the Neigefather, I must say this.
BOB acted like a bunch of morons when they jobbed the false Neige 13, they are a bunch of butt-cramming ass-munches, their rings are made out of crappy materials like nylon and steel, when everybody knows that is not how a wrestling ring is made, they have freaking smiley faces raping dead people, when everybody knows they prefer live rectal penetration! Yes, Bob makes Neige One sick!
KCS: Just one question, Neige One. Do you plan to pay up front?
Neige One: Yes, here is eight million dollars in Camel Cash . . . Valuable currency downstairs . . .
KCS: Uh, OK, I could use a pool table. And does Rob, uh, 299 get a share of the remains of BOB?
Neige One: Uh . . . no?
Neige 299: Hey! I’m smarter and funnier than all of you? Especially Neige 83 and Neige Ein-Zwei-Drei, or should I say, Kerry and Siegfried. I deserve my share of the meager funds of BOB.
Neige One: No, you don’t. Understand, 299?
Neige 299: OK.
KCS: OK, the case of Neige Collective v. Brawlers on a Budget, Uninc. is on like pr0n! Let’s litigate the pants of those fools . . . The ones that wear pants . . .
[fade to a banging gavel]
Voice-over: Injured? Call Siegel . . . 1 – Eight Hundred – S – H – A – O – L – I – N, and let the mystical arts of the East help you win the Lotto of stupdity!