"A veritable Adonis of a man stands up as the speech closes, striding forth like the majestic puma. His gaze sweeps across the crowd, but everyone avoids eye contact. Is it his trademark football pads? His amazing voice? No, they don't look him in the face because they know. This guy, he's the king of this jungle. He's the boss of this gym. He is... [b]RIP ROCKBONE[/b]! They're spooked, now, whispering to each other, because they understand. This guy's the real deal."

"RIP ROCKBONE doesn't [i]believe[/i] in pansy stuff like talent or private tournaments, see. RIP ROCKBONE thinks that any man with a full hand can be a real MVP if he puts his mind to it. RIP ROCKBONE will duel anyone, anytime, anywhere, and that's a FACT! You know why that is? Because RIP ROCKBONE's got confidence. Charisma. [i]Chutzpah[/i]. He knows you gotta be ready for anything the world throws at you, and nowhere on God's green earth is truly safe. Have any of these people dueled while they were taking a dump? Probably not. But RIP ROCKBONE has, and he won, too. That's just how life is when you're the Undefeated of the East."

"He stops suddenly, as if waiting for something. Whirls around and braces quickly, as if to catch a charge. Right on cue, a strange metal disk rolls down from a higher section. RIP ROCKBONE grunts as the bulky item nearly causes him to stumble and roll his ankle, but stands firm. What could this alien object be, the crowd wonders. Secretly, even RIP ROCKBONE ponders this, as such an enigma stumps even his VAST KNOWLEDGE gleaned from HIGHER EDUCATION. It must be as my comparative religion professor feared, thinks RIP ROCKBONE, arriving at the only possible conclusion: Alien ghosts have come to Earth to steal our card games!"