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The ref begins his count. "ONE...."
"ha-TWO!!!!"
"THREEEE!"
"Four - up." David bounces between stances to show his fitness.
"Gentlemen," the ref points to the ground after looking both men in the eye.
"FIGHT!"
David gloms on to Mortadella with a clinch, snuffing the flame of the second round.
You throw the stool down and instruct Vinnie for the next round. With not much time left, you hear a woman shout "Go Mortadella, knock him out, wooohooo!" Vinnie's harem giggle in the door of the gymnasium while the hotdog guy sidles past them with a plastic folding table. Vinnie is icing up a small cut under his right eye, and gritting his grin, not even acknowledging his fan club. He's ready to finish this off.
"FIGHTERS, READY!"
David gets sent off by his coach, but neither of them seem confident. David is breathing with his mouth open and nostrils flaring.
Both men approach the center of the squared circle. Vinnie huffs and puffs his chest and muscular back, but he doesn't seem tired. He's ready to blow dis house DOWN.
DING!DING!DING!
>Roll 1d20!
You've got some time. Think of a cool boast!
>Let the crowd know, "Autographs afta da fight, fitty bucks! We'll be in the parkin' lot by da Oldsmobile Aurora! Photos wit da champ, ten dollas! You'll start linin' up now, if yer smahht!"
>Motion to the judges, "Watch dis, watch dis! Get ready to throw yer pencils in da trash, you geeks! There ain't no need fer no scorecard wit da great Vinnie Mortadella, da Ghoul of Gaba! And you'd do good ta rememba dat!"
>Make a name fer yerself, "WOOO!! Attaboy, Vin'! I taught 'im dat! That's right! Ahaha! Lookit Otani's coach, he's a SCRUB! T'row da towel in, you bum, before Vinnie snaps David's little twig neck! Show some mercy, you sulking degenerate!"
>Taunt David and bolster Vinnie, "Now we see who's da goofy one! Huh, David? Take dat! Aaand DAT! BLAM! How abou' summaaa DAT, and bada BING, BOOM, BANG! Get 'em, Vin', don't stop!"
>Write-in
