Robbie rolls his eyes at the oversight that the powerbombed man with a play doh doll in his mouth had his shoulders up.

Listen up crotch stain.

You don't want none, don't come for none, just stay down when you get laid down and when going on the way down to hell, which is still a sight better than North Korea these days, just imagine to yourself one simple thing.

You'd have been better off remaining a piece of your daddy's smegma.

These are the days, on this earth, where we find out our worth, where one can define their own birth, we're talking past the size of my girth and whatever it is you hold sacred from your wasteland you call True Korea. This is when we see who truly can be the champion we believe who can lay the smack down for free on suckers like you who don't have any sense to be true to themselves but some dictator. Like they take pride in the fact they're some repressed masturbater, get up kid, here comes the hater, the power of a god damned freighter, ready for his waiter to bring him a dish of some Korean debater from halfway 'round the equator gotten beaten by the mad rhyme creator. I got the spark in the dark, give the gas carburetor burn up your radiator, you're a vicious North Korean perpetrator and I'll be back.

Like a fucking Terminator.

Where's your diatribe, your banter, your clever come back? You sure the tank is empty, sir, do you need a drink of water, sir, perhaps some of those awesome nutrients you can only get back home. Do you prefer Alpo or Purina when playing Kim-Jong's lap dog?

Robbie does the slow, methodical plod of most horror movie killers, like Jason Voorhees or a Michael Meyers, down the hall after NKWC. He grabs him, picks him up, cradles him, and firmly plants him to the floor with a pinfall.