A/N: I don't own the wrestlers! I do own Pixie and Betsy. As always, it's meant in fun.

The Mizard Of Odd

Chapter 82: Miz's Memory Problem

Punk stared for a long moment at his friend. "I'm Punk."

"It's very nice to meet you. Well, thanks for… whatever you may have given me. I suppose I should hit the road."

"You… what?" Punk said.

"I'm leaving," said Miz. "See you around, maybe, but I kind of hope not." He turned toward the path and started to walk away.

"Are you joking?" Punk said, chasing after Miz. "You can't leave!"

"Look, I'm sure you're all lovely people, but I'm not in the mood to join a cult, all right? I mean, sure, there's Kool-aid, but it's almost always poisoned."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Miz paused and indicated the group on the hill, all of whom were staring at him. "You and your friends. I'm sure you're a very nice cult and everything…"

"We're not a cult. We're professional wrestlers."

"Well, okay. Same thing." Miz offered a strained smile. "And now if you'll excuse me, I've got some hitchhiking to do. I'd like to make it to Finland by tomorrow evening."

"Somehow, I don't see that happening," Punk muttered.

"Why not?" said Miz, tilting his head.

"Well, for one thing, we're in Louisiana. I'm pretty sure you can't hitchhike to Finland from here."

"Why not?"

"Um, because there's an ocean between here and there?"

"It's just water. How bad could it be?"

Punk stared at Miz. "Even if you hitchhiked to the ocean and then managed to catch a ride on a boat with someone, what makes you think they'll take you all the way to Finland?"

"Because I'll ask them to. I'll be very nice about it and say, 'Excuse me sir or madam, could you possibly take me to Finland? I'd like to be there by tomorrow evening, please.' And then they'll say yes, and away we'll go. See? Not complicated at all."

"What is wrong with Undertaker?" JJ asked.

"I don't know," Christian said, "but it sounds like Punk could use some help." He took a step, not realizing how steep the hill was.

"Uh, Rey…" JJ began, but it was too late. Christian's feet slid out from under him and he went tumbling down the hill, emitting a terrified shriek

Mark also began shrieking, which pushed Matt into Godzilla mode. He let out a roar. Punk winced at the noise level, his glance flickering back to the hill before he turned to Miz again. "Your cult seems to be exploding," the latter observed. "Maybe you ought to go help them."

"I'd love to," Punk said, "but they probably need more help than I can give right now. They need a medical professional or something."

Miz beamed. "You're in luck! I happen to be a field trained medic! Now, where's the patient?"

"Um," Punk said, giving Miz a look of disbelief. "Over by the bottom of the hill?"

"Oh, you mean the guy screaming in pain and holding his leg?"

"Er, yes. Him."

"Let's have a look, then." He led the way over to Christian, who was moaning in pain. "Where does it hurt?"

"My leg," Christian said with a whimper.

"Which one? I wouldn't want to amputate the wrong one, after all."

"Get him away from me!" Christian said to Punk.

"Now there's no reason to be rude," Miz said. "I'm only trying to help."

"No one's cutting off my leg!" Christian said.

"Of course not," Miz said, offended. "Do you think I was raised by bacon grease or something?"

"…what?" Punk asked, frowning at Miz. "Did you say something about being raised by bacon grease?"

"No, I said I wasn't raised by bacon grease. They're a little cult in the West. Spent some time with them a few years back. Nasty people. Quite self absorbed and lacking in morals. Bunch of Santa worshipers."

"You mean Satan worshippers?" Punk asked.

"Nope, I mean Santa. Big guy? Red suit? They don't really celebrate Christmas, but they're weirdly obsessed with Santa. He comes to all their prayer meetings."

"I… see," Punk said. "So about Christian's leg…"

"We should probably amputate it."

"You're not cutting my leg off!" Christian howled.

"Why does he keep saying that?" asked Miz. "I already told you, I wasn't raised by bacon grease."

"Because you keep saying we're going to amputate it," Punk said.

"Well, yes. We have to do that. Poor fellow. How does he expect it to get better if we don't?"

"How will it get better if we cut it off?"

Miz sighed. "I don't think you understand medical jargon. Amputate means to look at it. Examine is to cut it off."

"Um," Punk said. "I think you have those backwards."

"I'm pretty sure I don't," said Miz. "I mean, I'm the medical person here. I should know." He paused. "Although I do mix them up sometimes. Makes for interesting situations in the field." He shrugged. "Either way…"

"Either way, you're not cutting off my leg!" Christian said.

"Is he still hung up on that?" Miz asked. "You have my word as a medical guy and a gentleman that I'm not going to cut off your leg, okay? Well, unless he refuses to pay his bill, that is. I have to make money somehow, and a leg goes for quite a lot on the black market, doesn't it?"

Christian said, "I'm fine." He whimpered and managed to pull himself to his feet. "See? Just great. Turns out I don't need a doctor after all."

"I'm not a doctor," Miz said.

"That much is obvious," Punk muttered.

"Well, if you don't need me, I'll be off. I still have to make my boat to Denmark."

"Finland," Punk said.

"Pardon?"

"You said you needed to go to Finland, not Denmark."

"Oh," said Miz, looking annoyed. "Whatever. I'll end up in the right place eventually."

"Not if you don't know where it is," said Punk.

Christian picked that moment to fall over again, crying out in pain. Miz brightened. "I guess you need me after all. Nurse, could you prepare the operating room?"

"Are you talking to me?" Punk asked in disbelief.

"You are the nurse in this hospital, aren't you?"

"Oh, for Dad's sake," Punk growled. "Someone bring me a Pepsi. We're going to fix this, once and for all."