ARE YOU RECORDING?
Tony Gamble smiles as he watches Chandler Tsonda in front of him on his knees, polishing the face of his Gamble Championship. Domingo Cruz has his phone out recording the whole thing. Johnnie Newsman is a few feet behind Cruz, staying out of the phone’s view while still enjoying the show.
Tony Gamble: I have to say Chan Chan, I wasn’t expecting you to come here and beg me to let you touch my title…let alone ask to shine it up for me.
Chandler Tsonda: It’s the least I could do considering how far we go back, especially since I don’t have one of my own.
Tony nods, a look of disappointment on the half of his face that doesn’t always have a smile on it.
Tony Gamble: Well, FLAMBERGE is going to be a tough nut to crack for anybody on this roster, so don’t beat yourself up about it.
Chandler hands the freshly polished Gamble Championship belt back to Tony.
Chandler Tsonda: Thanks for those encouraging words, but I don’t even deserve to be in the same room with you. I’m a failure, and I should have never come back.
Tony Gamble: You’re definitely right about that, but the fact that you can admit it speaks volumes about how much you’ve grown.
Tony stands up in front of the kneeling Tsonda, the title dangling from his hand at his side.
Tony Gamble: There’s only one thing left for you to do.
“Dude, how many times have I told you: if you want to use my likeness for weird sex stuff, you’re gonna have to at least pay my licensing fee.”
Though it’s not surprising who voiced this particular set of words, the camera shows us anyway: the real deal, genuine article Chandler Tsonda.
WHOOOOOOOOOOO!
Thus does it become clear that the “Tsonda” playing lapdog for Gamble is none other than Doppeltsonda, Jake Nguyen.
Chandler Tsonda: Looks like another successful chapter meeting of the Dipshit Society. (nods at each one of them) Cruz, Newspaper, Fuckface.
A low growl from Domingo as he lowers the phone, while a step towards Tsonda signals the possibility of violence. Gamble snaps his fingers, though, and waves Cruz off. Doppeltsonda looks a bit like he’s seen a ghost when he turns to face the Viet Viper.
Tony Gamble: (to the G.A.S) We don’t need to be worried about this Pretty Little Liar. After all, he’s just some chump who lost another big match. How’s the neck, by the way? Too soon? Yeah, so was your return.
The Sultan of Style is smiling through gritted teeth so hard that it looks like he might draw blood. But his conversation with wise Enemigo XI has him convinced of what he’s doing, so despite how much he hates it, he stands in there and keeps the peace.
Chandler Tsonda: You know what, pipsqueak? Domingo, you’re gonna wanna put that phone back up and record this because this is the one and only time I’ll say it: you’re right.
Tony Gamble: And you’re standing there without a title. What else is new?
Tony lifts the title up to his shoulder, admiring himself in the reflection for a moment.
Chandler Tsonda: (ignoring the comeback) Not only are you right, but you won in every conceivable way last week. You kept the Too Small To Ride Rollercoasters Title, and I couldn’t get in your head at ringside. Then I lost because I wanted to play mental grabass with you instead of finishing the job for the Intense Title.
Gamble looks stone-faced at Tsonda for a second.
And then bursts out laughing. This goes on for a nice long time.
Tony Gamble: (wiping tears of laughter) Domingo, please tell me you kept recording.
Cruz nods from the back, grinning.
Tony Gamble: Oh, you really are an idiot. An absolute freakin’ DUMMY. What did you think coming here and admitting that I’ve got your number was going to accomplish? Even for you, this is freakin’ embarrassing. Save it for therapy, Sir Hiss.
Chandler Tsonda: Motherfu…(takes a deep breath) Fine.
Tony Gamble: Oh come on. You’re not even gonna fight back? I’m weighed down with gold! You haven’t won a big match since One Direction broke up! The least you can do, before I re-retire you, is put up a fight.
Chandler Tsonda: Troy said no hands until Ultraviolence. Enjoy every second of peace until then. You got two weeks. And then I kick your orbital bones into the back of your skull.
Tony Gamble: Oh, I’m quivering. Nope, wait, that was just the air conditioning.
Chandler Tsonda: Two weeks.
Tony Gamble: I really expected more from you.
Chandler Tsonda: Two weeks.
Tony Gamble: Sad to see what old age and dementia do to a brain.
Chandler Tsonda: Two weeks, imp.
Tony Gamble: Can you bring some Taro pudding with tapioca, I freakin’ love that stuff.
The Model Citizen and The Grin, seemingly locked into a forever war, part ways. Tsonda throws up two fingers: maybe it’s to say deuces, maybe it’s to reiterate that they have two weeks until the showdown. Gamble & co. look satisfied, having won the battle. Next comes the war.