Your guess is as good as mine, how he done it. But my bum is moving fast, and he gives him some more knee lifts and a drop kick or two, and then a hair mare, and he falls on him for a body press and gets the count. Each bum has got a fall. You shoulda heard them Martians there squeaking this time--ten times as loud as when their bum won the foist fall. But they had no squawks. These flying chandeliers they had, they kinda bunched up to follow the action, and the light was good so the ref couldn't make no mistake about it. That Martian squirming out of the pretzel bend don't look so good, so I tell my bum not to use it for the thoid fall. I tell him to give the Martian some more of them knee lifts--he don't get along with them at all. I tell him to folly that up with a airplane spin and a body slam. My bum follys instructions to the alphabet, and that is just what happens. He bangs that Martian around with elbow smashes and knee lifts till he don't know is he on one leg or six. Then he goes in fast and grabs him by a coupla legs and arms, holds him up in the air, and spins him like a pinwheel. Right away I knowed something was in the air besides that Martian Mangler. Oi! Did things happen all to onct! My bum slams the Martian and falls on him for the count, and wins the thoid fall and the match. That part is okay. But while the Martian is still up in the air I notice that all the squeaking from the Martians has stopped all of a sudden. So from the Martians we are getting nothing but silence, strictly wholesale. I think maybe that's natural when their bum gets trun. And then--plop! plop! plop!--and them flying light bulbs all drop down flat on the mat and lay there just like the Martian bum, until they isn't enough light in the house to see to strike a match. And then the squeaking starts again, like a million hungry rats, and I can just barely see them Martians starting for the ring. I gets my bum by the arm and tells him something tells me we better blow the joint. We blow, fast. Them Martians is mad about something which I ain't had time to figure out, yet. My bum steps on one of them animated light fixtures when he gets out of the ring and squashes it. A puddle of light squirts out, and natch he steps in it. We are scramming through that crowd like mad, and we are in the clear. But we hear them squeaks behind us for a long time. They are follyin' the glowing footprints my bum is leaving to point the way. He emptied the last bottle of beer, holding it upended for a long time waiting for the final laggard drop to detach itself. He stalled over his drink, waiting for me to ask him what happened, so I did. He put on his most wounded expression, and I knew then that he'd suffered a mortal blow--to his purse.