Alex frantically shook the microphone, trying to remove the crab, before yelling, "Get OFF!"
Since the crab came from Staphanie and shared her mind, it translated 'get off' as an order to masturbate. Moving a pincer down to its tiny crab slit, it started rubbing itself, dripping crab juice all over the mic. Disgusted, Alex tossed the mic out of the ring before the juice could touch him and retrieved a new, crab-free mic.
Clearing his throat, Alex began again with, "Now, as I was trying to say before I was rudely interrupted, please allow me to introduce..."
More crabs appeared, this time crawling up the edges of the long table to the top where the contract was. There were at least a dozen crabs this time, each fitted with their own pair of Staphanie's boobs. Some of them started masturbating on the contract itself, staining the pages with crab juice. There was an occasional spurt of juice that shot away from the crabs' love tunnels, forcing Alex to step back to avoid being hit.
Though he hadn't been called yet, Botch Recliner took this as his cue to walk out. Of the arena. After seeing the crabs on a TV screen backstage, he thought Alex was at a buffet and decided to join him. He walked around the city for six months before realizing that the only restaurants open were run by clones. Since none of the clones wanted his room numb, he returned to the arena.
By now, the crabs had flooded the ring with juice as their numbers grew. Alex sat on the top turnbuckle, a plastic bag in his hands containing the contract, which he managed to rescue before the crabs could completely ruin it.
Attracted by the smell of the crabs that had filled the arena, Botch finally made his way out to the stage. Of course, it took him another six months to walk to the ring. Three of those months involved him trying to tie his boot after noticing it'd come untied. When he finally got into the ring, he immediately slipped in crab juice and fell face first into a pile of crab shit.
"HUH? OWWWWWWWWW!"
