WARNING: As an official XWF Superstar, Mark 'Expletive Deleted' Flynn is allowed to compete in the United States Championship Tournament just like everyone else.

However, we at Warfare attempt at every level to maintain programming that can be enjoyed by viewers of all demographics and age groups. As a result, his newest promo has been heavily edited to satisfy FCC regulations.

We feel that our top level editing staff members have made these adjustments seem nearly unnoticeable.

The following footage has been rated "TV-Y7 FV" for fantasy violence.

I already trashed the majority of Warfare's pathetic excuse for a roster beyond repair.

I've pointed out how unimpressive your records are, how disappointing your efforts to counter my brilliant dissection of your at best mediocre work seem...

Honestly, if you reject bunch of kids want to eliminate the last of the Old Guard.

Maybe you should do something none of you have ever done before...

And outperform me.

But, I'm not here to shred you for your every uninteresting move, doomed to lead you to failure...

Not yet anyway...

Instead. Allow me to do something no one in this tournament has successfully done yet.

And make a point.

The majority of you clowns parading as mad man spend the majority of your promos questioning how legitimate everyone else's lunacy is.

Which honestly makes Witastick's roster seem less like the madhouse it's advertised as...

And more like a bunch of untalented improv players, desperately trying to play characters they know nothing about.

The way I can tell how disappointingly sane your little self-help group is?

All of you have to go to crazy places. In order to seem crazy.

Do you follow?

When Cyren wants to seem out of his mind, he has to go to some metaphysical place of lunacy like Wonderland or my mother's funeral plot.

When Benjamin Crane wants to out-crazy Sid Feder, he goes to a mental institution full of psychotics.

Now, do you comprehend my criticism?

When any of you cackling jackals wants to get crazy?

You go to a place where it's relatively easy to obtain crazy.

The best kept little secret about crazy...

You don't need to go anywhere special to get crazy...

Crazy, when you don't have to fake it...

Can be found anywhere from your own backyard...

To your local rodent themed pizza restaurant and arcade...

Come along, children.

Let the old man show you what's at the bottom of the rabbit hole.

***

At the aforementioned rodent-themed pizza restaurant. Laughing children running and playing the arcade games all around them. The jingle of tokens pouring out of a machine. Teddy bears and glow-in-the-dark vampire teeth are pulled from shelves and traded for bright orange tickets.

Above them are fancy new video game systems and karaoke machines but it's a paper-thin scam, they cost too many tickets to possibly f(AIRLY) win in one visit.

...

Go(SH DARN) censors...

Two teenagers wearing collared shirts, black pants, paper hats and red aprons sit behind a cash register. Earning minimum wage. Desperately bored.

One's eyes glaze over with apathy following a group of children sprinting straight to skee ball machines...

And suddenly come awake.

"Hey... Hey, Dave."

Dave is struggling to fall asleep while standing upright. Very difficult, but as Dave has learned after a year of employment here, not impossible.

"Dave!"

Dave's eyes struggle open. They raise a millimeter and immediately regret letting a single particle of light in.

"What?"

"Check out that thing over there..."

Dave groans and turns to look away from the light. Like turning over in a bed. But... vertically.

"Man, I don't care how funny you think it is. If I see it, I have to do something about it..."

"No, no, man. It's not another fat kid stuck in the slide. Just look over there. I think I've seen that dude."

Dave forces his eyes open to assuage his friend's fears. And suddenly he has no problem being awake.

In a rocket ship that costs a quarter to ride.

His knees peeling out over his shoulders, packed tightly into the captain's seat.

Hands wrapped like a vise around the ship's wheel that no matter what way you spin it, doesn't seem to effect the way the ship flies slash rumbles.

Is a familiar scruffy bearded fellow.

"Oh sh(EEZ LOUISE) you're right... That's a teevee guy. That guy's on TV."

"No s(IR, YOU MUST BE KIDDING)?!?"

"No, yeah. He's a wrestling guy. He's um... Ah man, it's on the tip of my tongue..."

"OH! Uh... Eric Lewis?"

"Yeah! Ye-No... No, the other old guy... They're like identical, though..."

As the duo struggles to remember, the mysterious XWF superstar reaches into his pocket. And wrenches in deep...

Dave snaps. "Mark Flynn."

"Oh f(AR OUT)! That's him! I think..."

And pulls out from the depths of his pants...

A quarter.

"That big six man match for the title was sick, man!"

"Dude, that had five guys... You're thinking of Eric Lewis."

"Nah man! It had six guys! And it had Tristan Slater and a bunch of tables and chairs and stuff!"

"Dude, that was Eric Lewis!"

"F(RANLKLY I DISAGREE WITH) "you, man!"

"Shut the f(RONT DOOR WHEN YOU LEAVE THE RENT-CONTROLLED APARTMENT AND ALSO LOCK IT) up, dude! I know my XWF! Slater pinned Arsenic after Eric Lewis suicide dove off the top of the cage!"

"DUDE! You're thinking of Bad Medicine! I'm talking about Nero's Games!"

"Oh... Wait, yeah..."

His arm extends up... And out...

To the coin slot on the side of the ride.

"But dude... Bad Medicine was sick, man!"

"Yeah, bro! Golden Age stuff! I still have a Francis Dean t-shirt!"

"...Dave, who the F(LIP KICK)is Francis Dean?"

"Oh... You know? Francis Dean. He was great..."

"..."

"He...um... He ate an I-Hop with Steve Sayors and... Was a weird guy..."

"...Bro, you're not getting cred from making up dudes. This isn't your bulls(HEVIK) creative writing class."

"STEVE! He was real! He took on Trenton York! I bought a t-shirt!"

"STOP MAKING UP NAMES, MAN!"

And the quarter slides down the chute.

"I BOUGHT A F..."

"YES! BLAST OFF FROM THE BOWELS OF HE(CK)!"

Both teenagers turn to see the subject of their discussion erupting with kife within the seat of a children's ride.

A line of kids begin to form at the rocket ship. It looks fun.

Flynn continues to rumble within his metallic ship to nowhere as it lightly vibrates back and forth on a spring.

"LIKE A CORPSE PULLING OPEN THE DEEP FREEZE FROM THE OTHER SIDE! LIKE A PHOENIX THOUGHT DEAD AND BURNT TO CRISPS!"

"FROM ASHES, I RISE!"

"Steve, that's Eric Lewis!"

"You sure?"

"Um.. Depends, is he being racist?"

Our protagonist slams the side of the rocket as children look on entertained...

"ONWARD, CESAR! THAT THE DEAD MAY HAUNT THOSE THAT DROVE US TO QUICK TO THE GRAVES! THEY SHALL LIVE WHERE WE SPENT OUR DEATHS! THEY SHALL MAKE HOMES OF OUR HOLES IN THE EARTH!"

"...No... Just vaguely figurative..."

"Then it's Mark F(RANKLIN) Flynn... Like, Final answer."

"LIIIIIIIIIIIIFE!!!! DO YOU HEAR ME, DEATH?!? YOU CHEAP WHO(DUNNIT PAPERBACK MYSTERY)?!? I LIIIIIIIIIVE!!!!!!"


The rocket finally stops shaking. A leg springs out of the side of the rocket and gingerly searches for the metal stairs off his aircraft.

"... Kerr... Kah... Kerr... Kah..."

Both wrestling fans stare at this display, slowly backing away, as if a couple more feet of distance could save them from the mental breakdown they're witnessing.

"...What's he doing?"

"I think he's making astronaut sounds..."

"Kerr... Kah... Space... The final frontier..."

Mark Flynn walks down the space ramp, hopping like an astronaut. Another child steps into the rocket and quickly slips a quarter in. His direction... Toward the two teenagers...

"Oh f(EROCIOUSLY ACTIVE STOCK MARKET THE AMERICAN PUBLIC SHOULD PUT MORE FAITH INTO)! What do we do?"

Flynn bounds toward the pair.

Steve, in a moment of mixed panic and clarity, does the first thing that comes to his terrified mind...

And holds his arm in front of him.

Like a leather shield in front of a mind flayer.

Or, in words that people that aren't these two nerds understand.

Like a crossing guard stepping in front of an eighteen wheeler that's skidding off the road...

Flynn astronaut walks to both workers, grown men, one hiding behind the other whimpering while the first is frozen with fear, with only his right arm for protection.

Dave closes his eyes. A scream!

Not dead...

...

Not dead...

...

...

Dave slowly opens his eyes...

And standing before him...

Indisputably...

Is Mark Flynn.

"Kerr... Kah... Kerr... Kah..."

Mark Flynn continues to imitate a breathing apparatus as his chest animatedly heaves up and down.

Steve shakes Dave, still clinging to his life.

"Say something..."

Dave shakes his head awake and tries to muster an ounce of courage.

"Um... Hey man... I'm a big Robert Miles fan..."

Flynn continues to breath.

"... Can we help you?"

Flynn stops.

"KERSH! ALIEN LIFE!"

They freeze.

Steve shakes Dave again.

"He means us."

"Yeah, I know, f(RIEND OF MINE, WOULD YOU LIKE THIS BUBBLE GUM)wad..."

Dave tries again.

"...Yes?"

"KERSH! Are you familiar with my home?"

The two nod before realizing a non-verbal answer won't satisfy this man on a mission.

"...Yeah... We're fans of your world..."

Flynn's eyes tighten.

SRIK! His hand zooms out and lifts Dave into the air by his collar. Dave kicks helplessly into the air.

Steve screams running to the manager's office.

"KERSH! My kingdom was stolen from me... I came to your world to amass an army..."

"... What?"

Flynn grins.

""I will enjoy my new home on Planet Warfare..."

"...Now..."

"...Bring me, Mr. Satellite..."

Will Our Dynamic Duo figure out the Narcissistic Ne'er-do-well's nefarious near-sighted narcoleptics! And what do all these n-words want with Mr. Satellite?

No, I didn't mean it like that. Look up there. There are a lot of words that start with the letter 'n' in sequence. It's not racism, it's alliteration.

Find out on the next episode of... This!