excuses, excuses...

[Fissure]

--The lights go out and some of the audience members start screaming. In the dark, soft and soothing words "Moderate rock" echo through the air, sending the crowd into rapture. The lights begin to flicker with the first few sounds of the "Tourette's" guitar riff. The spotlights are searching the crowd for the returning "Evil Imp", and after a few moments we can see a cloud of smoke raising between a couple of security guards trying to make way for the despised "Rotten Tooth" of the AtPW -Fissure. He stops at the corner post outside the ring, looks around with anger, put out his cigar stub and enters the ring. In the ring he sits on the top turnbuckle and begins to speak in a strong eastern european accent.--
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Fissure: Well, I'm here... I'm still here, I know how, all of you maggots in the audience, wanted me gone...
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--The crowd cheers, and Fissure gives a little sarcastic smirk.--
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Fissure: Anyway,... after my confrontation with my dearest doctor, and before the accident with that Phoenix guy...
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--Fissure is interrupted again by cheers, as the fans still remember the loss he suffered on tuesday.--
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Fissure: Yeah, yeah, it was a fluke and it will never, and i mean NNNever, happen again... As I was saying, before I had the match, the good doctor and I were told we don't want to miss this show, so,... I'm here... Where are Thrax and that Satan guy...
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--As the crowd cheers in anticipation of their idols, Fissure takes out a flask from his pocket, takes a sip, or two and with a grimace, lights up another cigar.--