(Cobra Woman makes her entrance and walks into the audience.)

Cobra Woman: Cobra Kisses, one dollar each. Get yourself a Cobra Kiss, and be grateful it's only on paper. You wouldn't know what to do with it, if you had the chance, you tire changing amateurs. Face it. You're limited. Whereas I in this context am fucking what it's all about. Give it a look, and you touch buster, and I'll fill your boney dome so full of venom, you'll vent curses on that idiot mother hen of yours that never taught you respect for women.

Spoonman: Don't threaten guests, Cobra Woman.

Cobra Woman:: They need to be reminded. They need to respect people who live closer to the ground, people who don't have pockets full of cash, people who swallow things whole, people, not lowly invertebrate slime monsters.

Spoonman: Cobra Woman is very particular, in her likes and dislikes. Much too particular for Spoonman. But she does fill giant void in never ending fantasy of many men.

Cobra Woman: Cobra Kisses, one dollar each. Everyone's got to make a living, right. Spoonman here, he's one of those talk to you sweetly holy hair rollers. He'll get you believing he's intelligent, and then he'll pull out the bowl of Spoon Rocks, and dig in his spoon, and he's got you. You're gone. You're out the door to buy a bag of Freaking Spoonman Bread Chips, and they taste like shit, you stupid finger cake up your nose donut face.

Spoonman: Cobra Woman also serves as a Surrogate Fiancée for wealthy urban professionals who then take her home to meet their families. It is like fantasy camp for failed pimps.

Cobra Woman: And you think it will stop with Spoonman Rocks. There will be Spoonman this and that, Spoonman hats and keyrings. All kinds of bullshit. This man is a hustler.

Spoonman: Hey, are you going to take word of narrow brained slinky foul mouthed odor of threat female or are you going to hang with the Spoon. Tonight Spoonman introduces master plan for major end-of-century retooling of performance industry. What plan does Cobra Woman have for you? Just a few stabs of pleasure and psst! you're gone. One dead balloon. Trust me, she takes no prisoners.

Cobra Woman: So be good boys and girls now. Do what Big Daddy Spoon tells you. Look at him. He's not a real person. He's seven major religions, four food groups, and 31 flavors of yak shit.

(Spoonman starts to sputter.)

Spoonman: If I were Holy Hair Roller, my dear, I think I would not be able to stop myself from attempting to exorcise thevillainous demon that has grip on you, but I am not repentant righteous snot. I am Spoonman, and you are Cobra Woman come to Cobra Lounge. And I respect you, and we all respect you.

Cobra Woman: So now what do you want? You want me to come up on stage, I suppose?

Spoonman: Please...

Cobra Woman: Why should I? I can make lots of money out here, the action's good. You can't make shit up there. Unless you're Whoopi Goldberg, and you ain't Whoopi Goldberg.

Spoonman: So tell me something else I don't know.

Cobra Woman: You don't know how to talk to a lady.

Spoonman: Look, you are most definitely woman who will not be called "Toots". You are most definitely a lady. So make it easier for me, please. Come up here.

Cobra Woman: I'll leave whenever I want. Understood. Don't nobody try and stop me. And don't nobody try to guilt vibe me. I hate guilt vibes.

Spoonman: Cobra Woman has deep moral muscles. But they are not conventionally ordered, and she does not take well to guilt.

Cobra Woman: What's next on the bill?

Spoonman: Anarchist Vomit

Cobra Woman: Really. I love that

Spoonman: So do I. So come and introduce it with me. Step onto stage.

Cobra Woman: Maybe for a little while.

Spoonman: Ready?

Cobra Woman: Yeah.

(If you like this one, try (How Spoonman Met Cobra Woman)