e studying up on the side, anyhow,
and the outlook for my bum ain't so good no more nohow. So we go to
Mars.

I signalled Sherry for my coffee, as Hoiman ground to a stop while he
refilled his glass. I swear my eyes weren't away from the table for
more than a half second, but in that moment all the french fries left
my plate. I yielded to Fate--it wasn't meant to be that I eat french
fries this pay day.

Things are primitive like on Mars, (Hoiman was saying), on accounta
the troubles they have with power there. We rassled under some funny
set-ups, but that's okay with me as long as my bum tosses his man.

This time they ain't none of them screwy Venusians to put the whammy
on him, and he's doing okay. Until--I gotta admit it--I get deluges of
grandeur, or something.

I gotta tell ya about them Martians. They are about seven feet tall,
not too heavy, but they got plenty moxie. And an extra pair of arms,
so I get to thinking they oughta be terrific in the ring. Just so they
ain't _too_ terrific.

I ask my bum, I says to him, I says, could he, does he think, trun one
of them Martians? He says iffen he has to he'll use his pretzel bend,
and they ain't no Martian on six legs, or eight, what won't say uncle.

So I check with the Colony Administrator, and he says it's okay for a
match perviding we don't interfere with any of their beliefs or
customs or conventions. I ast him what were they, and he told me the
Martians never talked about them, so we'd just have to be careful.

What the hell, I says to my bum. A bout's a bout. So I start
promoting. First I find out do them Martians have a bum what wants to
rassle my bum, winner take all--which is the way we like to rassle,
when I know my bum can trun the other bum. Natch.

I don't mean we talk to the Martians--I don't savvy them squeaks they
use on each other. We hire an interpreter--we have to take his word
for it that everything is woiking out.

So the night of the match comes around and them Martians insist on
having it in their own town, Meekweek it sounds like, near as I can
say it in people talk. Remember I told you it was primitive? You never
seen nothing like this. They don't live with people by the way. They
live off by theirselves in their own town.

The ring and mat and ropes are okay--not regulation, but nothing to
squawk about. Them lights was what get me. The Martians got no power,
so they make a deal with some insecks. Cross my heart--'sa fack. You