It’s a cold open. I’m not entirely sure what that means, because I’m not even a little chilly. Anyway, our masked hero walks into the shot and lifts the camera up from the table. It’s the same bedroom as before. However, this time we’ve got the Che Guevara poster and ’99 Best of Jugs collection under the bed with a fresh coat of sticky glue on page 15. Bitch is bangin’.

“Hello again.” He says as he adjusts his mask some. “I’m on my way to Chicago very shortly and I’m going to rid the Windy City of a certain peppery jackass.”

Suddenly there’s a knock on the door.

“Don’t mind that. That’s probably Maria again. Uno momento, por favor.” He turns his attention to the door. “Puta, I told you that’s not my baby! Eyes cocked like a pistol!”

The knocking ceases. She knows better to screw around with a man in a bright lime green aquatic mask. Well, except literally. Let me tell you, Maria can work that motherf—

"I apologize for that. I would hate for you people to think I'm a perverse scumbag before I actually get the chance to show you how much of a perverse scumbag I can be. Now, I am making a promise to appear SLAMTRACK DIEZ! See you there, pepper man."

He walks off now. Our masked hero has a strict 9AM tee time.