SmackDown: MadMike's Revenge!

Round 2: That Don't Impress-uh Me Much

Come on in, guys! Gettin' your first look at bloodsword, comin' back from Exile Island.

bloodsword, tired- and haggard-looking, like he'd lost forty pounds and went four days without taking a dump, limps onto the scene with a wooden cane. He's given himself a new moniker, Dragon Slayer, and has even fashioned himself a Dragon Cane. In his other hand is a dead lizard named Jerry, which he believes possesses the spirit of Jerry Seinfeld.

Not a fun place to be. How you holding up?

"You know," bloodsword says, "I'm... I'm... I'm here to slay the Dragon, Jeff. For I am the Dragon Slayer. A great man named Marcus Aurelius once said, 'Do not ask what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.' And as the Dragon Slayer it is my duty—to my country, to my brothers and to my sisters—to slay the Dragon and win this game."

Truer words have never been spoken.

bloodsword nudges AngusEcrivain and whispers, "Did you hear when I said 'Dragon Slayer'?"

Ready for your next challenge, guys? Ready to hold hands with your partner?

Afraid that's not gonna happen.

Drop your buffs, SmackDowners. We're changin' things up!

No longer will you all be grouped into pairs—now you're going into tribes. But this ain't a team sport anymore, ghouls and goblins: This is a bloodthirsty battle for the ages. Now we start whittling down the competition, player by player, until we've got the winner of LayethTheSmackDown's SmackDown: MadMike's Revenge, where one of you will earn the title of Sole SmackDowner, get all the perks that go with such an esteemed title, and receive a sweet reward*.

*reward may or may not be sweet; in fact, reward may not even exist.

Here are your new tribes:

AngusEcrivain, sigrist, jewel1307, elveloy, bloodsword—you are collectively known as Dudecore.

You are old-school SmackDowners. Some of you are probably balding. Some of you might even be in diapers at this very moment (or are at least contemplating picking up a box, because ain't nobody got time to run to the can). You have a history together. You have a personal vendetta against one another. Oh, sure, some of you probably claim to be good chums, but we all know that's a mask for you to hide behind while you sharpen your knife and contemplate murder. Some of you have won before, some of you have lost. Now it's time to settle the score. Once and for all. With blood on your hands and bits of old, freckly skin under your fingernails.

H-A-Spade, NimrodKirkpatrick, VintageVulpes, Reffster, AllanFisher—you are now called Hermaphrodeity.

You're the new kids on the block. You're young, fun, do a lot of drugs, love to par-tay (as you like to say), think the Sun is always gonna be your best friend (just you wait...), and have dreams of marrying a successful doctor only to divorce them once you've sucked them dry of some money. You've got hip hairdos and probably wear giant, stupid-looking glasses and like to make ironic comments to hide how self-conscious you are about your perfect, expensive smile and the way your ears have little blond hairs on them. You've got something to prove. Most importantly, you want to take the veterans out back and shoot them. Maybe you'll get the opportunity? Only one way to get there, though: win.