Mike and I are sitting in an office waiting to meet with a financial planner. We've got an idea for a business venture, but I never made it passed the third grade. My lack of education, and Mike only speaking Japanese is a hindrance, so we need one of them educated peoples. The CPA comes into the room, and looks at Mike sprawled on the window sill, he shakes his head before closing the door behind him. He's a small man, of about 4 foot 19 inches tall, and maybe 145 pounds. He's in a cheap polyester blue suit, with an ugly red tie. I hate him. Strolling by, he pats my back before sitting down and pulling a folder out of his desk. Quietly he begins to read it, and shake his head.

"You're wanting help to start up a company, doing what exactly?"

"I'm not sure. I was thinking a dog petting store, or a taco farm, or a fish museum. What do you think?"

He grabs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger, and begins to rub it while exhaling. I wobble in the cheap wooden chair he's got me sitting in, which causes me to fall back and hit my head on the dirty brown carpet. This gets a giggle out of him.

"None of those are a good idea. Do you actually want to make money, or do you just want to waste money?"

I roll myself onto my side and push myself up, before stopping to pull the chair upright. Mike rolls over on to his tummy and gurgles. I take the five steps needed to grab him, and pick him up. While coddling him, I reach into my pocket and pull out a cricket. His cute little tongue come out and licks the Cricket up.

"Why did you bring a lizard here?"

I'm rubbing his little belly with my index finger, and he's grabbing at it with his claws. So cute and adorable.

"This is Mike, my financial and life partner. He's pretty good with my money, but he only speaks Japanese. I need help with getting this going from someone who speaks English, and can talk to the people I need to talk to. Also, I do wanna make money, I'm following the Erik Black method of making money."

I sit back down on the chair, and Mike scurries up my arm and sits on my shoulder. The CPA, Chaz, scratches his head.

"I'm not familiar with that method. Care to elaborate?"

"Well, Erik Black basically runs a very vague company, with the worst name ever, and he apparently gives out tickets to events that he spends a million on, according to him. He also went through and showed his checkbook ledger, and it's nothing but poorly documented outgoing checks. Somehow doing this and claiming to kill people has made him rich, so he says. I'm wanna have that kind of vague business that doesn't really do much of anything to generate income that somehow still makes me tons of cashy money. Mike wants a yacht."

I see the sweat beginning to form along his brow, and a nervous look comes across his face. He wipes it away with an old handkerchief from his pocket. I grab it from his hands, and shove it under my helmet. It's delicious, but I don't think he can see the look of joy on my face. There's a look of pure confusion on his face. It makes me into a happy Ricardo.

"Did you eat my handkerchief?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He's even more confused, and rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger again. Another loud exhale reminds me he's not dead.

"Mister Ricardo, let me explain a few important things to you. First of all, no business can succeed in that manner, that's just no feasible. It sounds like Erik is either manipulating the facts, or just not telling you what he does. But I can assure you that if he was constantly spending money, and doing large million dollar plus events, without charging for them, he won't be in business long. Perhaps this is a case of someone trying to up themselve and their status in life. Second of all, if you want to make money, I suggest investing in something that will make money, something you know. We can discuss those options after we clear up a few more things. Third of all, if you want a boat for your lizard, go purchase one. You can buy a small remote controlled one at most stores for around $30. Fourth of all, that's a lizard, he cannot handle finances, and doesn't speak Japanese. He may understand it, but he does not speak it. Fifth of all, it is peculiar for you to keep crickets in your pockets. Please don't pull more out of them while you're here. And finally, eating my Handkerchief is extremely unsettling, I cannot even begin to fathom what would cause a man to do something like that. Now, let's discuss what you do want to do here."

I'm slightly taken back, but I won't let him see this. Instead, I stand up calmly, and I throw the old wooden chair next to me across the room, and then sit back down.


"Um, ok. You didn't need to insult Mike. So what would you suggest I invest my money in?"
"He points to the chair, and I pick it up and set it upright. Jerkface.

"Well, how much money do you have?"

I reach into my pocket, and he looks nervous.

"No Crickets, please."

"This is my money pocket, the crickets are in my other pocket."

He relaxes a little as I pull out a wad of money, and hand it to him. It's exactly 12 sticks, 6 leaves, 9 acorns, and 25 small berries. He painstakingly separates each of them, and then presses a button on his desk. Roughly 25 seconds after he presses the button, a redhead in a black skirt and white blouse walks into the room. She's about 26, and shorter than I am. Her blue eyes pierce through me as she looks right at me.

"Yes, Mr. DiMarco?"

He gestures across the monies of mine he has spread on his table.

"Does this look like enough to invest in a fish museum to you, Candice?"

She walks over and examines them, lifting each one very gently, examining it carefully, and then dropping into the trash can on the side of his desk. That stupid metal trash can.

"No, Mr. DiMarco. Those are berries, twigs, and leaves. They're worthless, and no one will ever go visit a fish musuem."

He chuckles, and then stands up, and walks over to his window, and closes the curtains before turning to me. He speaks slowly, and coldly.

"Ricardo, you need to understand something. I am a very stressed out mid-level accountant, I have little interest in losing money on some foolish venture involving twigs, and a fish museum. What I will be glad to do, however. Is help you invest in something that will actually generate money. I suggest you stop playing these games and allow me to invest your money in something worth a damn. I suggest we start small, and invest in the stock market. Maybe eventually we can move to more serious ventures."

I'm gassy from the handkerchief, and let out a loud toot, which inevitably leads to my lunch eggs shifting around in my ass, which feel odd. Jeanine, the secretary, looks at me oddly, and crinkles her nose to show her disgust.

"You threw my money away."

He sighs again, and walks over to me, lowering himself so he can stare me in the eyes. Jokes on him, I closed my eyes, and he can't see it.

"I'm gonna need you to either stop playing stupid, or get out of my office. Your choice."

He pauses, and waits for me to answer him. I gulp before answering him.


"I keep a roll of Mike's money in my ass in case of emergencies. I need to ask him before I use it, though."

He reaches his arm as far back as he possibly can, and brings it forward to slap my helmet across the face. I imagine this must hurt him a lot more than it hurts me, because my helmet is metal, and it doesn't hurt me at all. His roaring response tells me all I need to know about how his hand feels.

GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"

I stand up, and Mike goes scampering into my cricket pocket, and I run out of the office with my arms flailing at my side, and emitting a high pitched screech. I run all the way down the street until I pass an ice cream shop. I stop my screeching, and walk into the shop calmly. I order myself a double scoop of banana ice cream, with a side of waffles. They have to make the waffles specially, but they're nice people. I pull out a bill from my spending money and hand it to them. Mike and I get a booth in the corner, and begin to eat our waffles and ice cream, when none other than Steve Sayors comes walking up to us, licking a plain vanilla ice cream. He's in a stupid white suit with black lines going all over it. He sits down, and looks at us, before rolling his eyes.

"Hey, Ricardo. You wanna talk to me about your match this Saturday?"


"I guess. I don't really have a lot to say, I know he's cut two promos already, and trashed me somewhat, but to be completely honest, I can't stand watching his stuff, so boring and bland. A real generic tough guy routine, and that's not fun. I don't wanna focus on his boring ass too much right now. I'll just tell you my feelings going into the event. I think I'm gonna win because he's boring and predictable, and I'm the best there is. There's a reason that I'm the Universal Champion, and why I didn't take the pin last week at Savage. Shame that Finn has to admit to being pinned by Miss Fortune, but I didn't technically lose. Oh well, I'm still undefeated, and I'll be more than happy to continue that streak as I defend both my Bopperweight Championship, and my Universal Championship title against this boring bland piece of bread.

That's right, he's a piece of bread, and this will be the last meal I eat before Savage, so I'll be extra hungry. And Mike, he's not allowed anymore crickets until after we win, because we will win. We're not gonna be beat by someone who lost a battle of wits to Calypso. Not that Calypso is a bad person to lose to, he did beat Ghost Tank after all, but he's notorious for being nice, and not arguing with people. And yet, John Black's less interesting cousin managed to lose an argument with him. Plus, he's obsessed with pushing people's poops in, and I make sure to keep things in between my anus and poop. He'll have to get by my potatoes if he wants my poop! I'll tell you that."

Sayors has finishes his ice cream by now, and is halfway out of the store. He turns and looks at me.

"Oh, ok. I guess. Bye."