Jer: We're here for CANCER BEATDOWN, my death partner Ken and myself. Wow, Ken. You look like you got in the ring for a CANCER BEATDOWN and lost. Badly. How are you even alive?
Ken: There's where you err, Jer. I make no claim of livelihood.
Jer & Ken: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Jer: Ya just our luck to get a charity gig, right audience?
Ken: No, not right audience. They're all on their phones.
Jer: They're probably calling you an ambulance. You really look like shit.
Ken: Too bad they can't call an ambulance for the shit in your pants.
Jer: You mean a dump truck?
Ken & Jer: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ken: Say I heard you gave your mom AIDS in the womb.
Jer: Say what? I hear you perform fellatio with your butt. Fraud much?
Ken: What now? How many time an hour you go back down on open ass with your prefer-not-to-say status?
Jer: I guess we good.
Jer & Ken: HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ken: Wait. Your med port popped out of your chest, mate. Let me just
Jer: Don't you touch it. It's on break. It gets depressing in my body.
Ken: At first I thought it was another huge tapeworm like the one you sneezed out in the tanning bed or the one came out your eye and disappeared into the public sewer grate.
Jer: I hate you filthy bitch.
Ken: I hate you disgusting dirty tramp hole fornicating disease vector.
Jer: ...and scene! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Thanks for your support everybody. Good night!
Ken: Good night!
Ken & Jer: Beat it down!
[Ken and Jer fly at one another, punching, biting, and clawing, land on the stage and begin to draw blood and leave hair as MPS security struggles to pull them apart and get them back into their separate palliative cells at the Chang K. Chang Chank Chain Gang Med Tank.]
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