M: Ace Roberts, you have betrayed the family. For this you must pay, and you will pay in your own blood. But you will not be buried in the ground. Instead, you will be buried here, in this stinky pile of cow dung, because I don't think you're worthy of a ground burial. By the time this dung is finished being processed into lawn fertilizer, you will be in too small of pieces for them to identify you.
The Mechanic then drops the pitchfork and chuckles.
M: Ace, if you're good for one thing around here, it's a laugh. You're really splitting my sides with all your bullsh*t. How'd you say it? "I do hope you find your brother. Simply because you may not see him again." Come on now... even Nancy Kerrigan could play a better mobster than you. That gimmick might've worked on Mike Payne, and maybe even Osiris, but it doesn't now nor will it ever work on me. You think you can kill me? I'd like to see you try. You don't even have the guts to hit somebody for yourself and you know what I'm talking about. The Mike Payne incident.
That was by far the biggest display of scaredy-catness I've ever seen in my life. You didn't even have the guts to attack him yourself at first. Instead, you had to hire a couple of punks to do it for you. Then what did you do? You still didn't have the guts to him with your bare hands. You had to bash him up with a nightstick and then kick him in the side like the true wannabe tough guy you really are. You want to prove me wrong? Show up to Epic with just yourself, and do it by pinning me for the one, two, three. If you can't do that, then you're not even worth my time.
The Mechanic carefully walks down from atop the manuer pile. After all, it would suck to fall into that sh*t wearing a 5 dollar thrift store suit, wouldn't it? Once at the bottom, the Mechanic reaches into the seat of his truck and pulls out the Western title, placing it over his shoulder.
M: I mean hell, it ain't my fault that you ain't had p*ssy since p*ssy had you Ace. (HA! That was a classic!) But you don't have to be a b*tch just because you can't even turn on a Vegas hooker- and I speak from personal experience: it don't take much to get them going.
Just keep three things in mind when Epic rolls around Ace. One, it's impossible to get rid of me. Even if you kill me, I'll come back to haunt and annoy you by singing John Jacob Jingle-Heimer Smith. I'll follow that up with 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. After that, I'll make you want to kill yourself by singing the song that doesn't end. And if that doesn't do it, then I'll really drive you to madness with Super-cala-fragalist. Then, if it really, really comes down to it, I'll whip out the song that not even I can stand: Stayin' Alive by the BeeGees, or the Monkees. I can't remember who sings it. But I'll sing it anyway, just because it'll drive you crazy. It's not like I'd have anything better to do, I will have the rest of eternity to do it. Two, what goes around comes around. And three... well, I can't really think of three. But still, keep those three things in mind, and things will go just fine. And when it's over, you'll go your way and I'll go mine, and we won't have to deal with each other again.
So I leave it up to you Ace. You can either kill me and put up with a lifetime of my terrible singing voice; or you can just take your loss like a man and move on with your life. Either way, you won't get rid of me, so I guess it's a win-win situation for me.
The Mechanic climbs up into his truck. Not easy when you're in a suit and the truck has a 9" lift on it. Starting it up and revving the engine, the Mechanic takes off in a cloud of dust as the scene fades to black.