Darkness. Pitch black... The most obscure outlines of a face can be made out through the colorless space...

"My fellow XWFers. Why do I meet you in darkness?

Simply put...

Because we are in the darkest of times.

Our champions have been replaced...

Not defeated.

Nor by those who have won through victory in the ring but just by being in the right place.

At the right time...

..."

Suddenly, the lights flash on.

Mark Flynn is on a big wooden stage, adorned with a wooden board elevated between two steel posts.

And Flynn is wearing a karate gi with a white belt.

And a headset.

And a car salesman's smile.

"And if you're thinking to yourself. 'HEY WHY NOT ME!?!?? WHY NOT ME GOD DAMMIT?!? I'D RIP OFF PAUL HEYMAN'S FAT SACS AND AT THIS POINT VESTIGIAL HEART FOR A SHOT AT CHAMPIONSHIP GOLD!"

Mark Flynn, after descending into a screaming rage, slides his hair back into place and then rubs his furious dark stare back into his fake grin.

"Then, congratulations! You have just as much of an anger problem as I do!"

"Unfortunately, that's only half of what you need to guarantee success in the XWF."

"For the second half, you'll need to buy..."

"The Mark Flynn Fighting System Volume 1!"

Flynn points to the screen and karate chops

"STAR WIPE!"

The screen star wipes. Flynn is standing behind the elevated wooden board.

He raises his right arm.

"Hi-Ya!"

Flynn's arm swings down like a thunder strike!
…

And bounces off the board. His hand thuds harmlessly off and rebounds as his left hand squeezes feeling back into his clipped wing.

"Ahh... Haha... Warm-Up strike. Gotta get the limbs warm before we break wood."

The screen star wipes again to Mark Flynn walking on top of a path of tiny bonsai gardens.

From miniature tree to miniature tree, grimacing in pain as he gingerly steps from treetop to treetop, bristles piercing into his foot as he steps.

VoiceOver: "When I first came to the XWF, I was a lower card hack. The XWF Champion called me a jobber! I didn’t know what to do. Then, I learned about the Mark Flynn Fighting System Volume 1. Now, I'm making hundreds of dollars. Thanks, Mark Flynn!"

-Mark Flynn

The screen returns to Mark Flynn on the stage.

"You're welcome, Mark Flynn! And you too can win title belts without having to go through unnecessary bureaucratic garbage like ‘winning matches’ or ‘having social skills.’ Just follow my program and soon enough, you’ll be snatching up belts and hanging onto them for hours to even days at a time!"

Star wipe back to Mark Flynn who's doing deep breathing exercises next to the board.

"Okay..."

Flynn takes a couple steps back from the board.

"Phew. Okay."

Flynn takes a long step to the table.

Another long step...

He springs!

BEAUTIFUL SCISSORS KICK!

...That once again bounces off the flat board...

"Ah..."

Flynn backs up from the unbroken oak...

STARWIPE.

Flynn is on the table, spinning himself...

Very slowly, by putting his hands on the table and slowly rotating himself on top of the board.

"IT'S THE FLYNNAROONIE, SUCKA!"

STARWIPE.

Flynn stands in front of a chalkboard holding a red dry erase marker. Words are difficult to make out because some idiot tried to use a red dry erase marker on a chalkboard.

"With this program, I'm going to teach you the three C's of Mark Flynn Fighting System combat."

The board clicks as Flynn ticks the marker against the chalkboard.

"CALCULATING!"

Tick.

"CACKLING!"

Tick.

"AND J. CREW!"

Flynn nods as he pulls the marker off the board.

"That's just because the Mark Flynn Fighting System is sponsored by J. Crew. The actual third C is Product Placement."

STARWIPE.

Two men in suits pick up the board from the elevated bars.

Flynn directs them across the stage, pointing and grabbing them by the waist.

"Ok. Stand here."

Flynn backs up and starts breathing deeply.

"Okay. Hold it steady."

Flynn cracks his neck and then looks into the camera.

“I invented this next move in 1995. It’s called a Dropping Kick.”

Flynn then gets set. Stretches both legs with a couple of deep lunges toward the board.

One of the guys in the suits raises his left hand, while maintaining his grip on the board with his right.

“Mr. Flynn, I don’t think a dropkick is going t-“

“Hold it steady.”

The guy sighs and returns to a two-handed grip.

“WOOOOOOO! SHADES OF RIC FLAIR!”

Flynn leaps impressively!

And presses the board back a couple of inches from his demonstrative assistants’ hands…

As he lands directly on his hip.

“AH SHIT! OW! RIGHT ON MY KEYS!”

The two men looked on slightly embarrassed as their employer clumsily picks himself off the floor.

STARWIPE.

Flynn, standing with the camera close-up on the upper body, points at the screen.

“All the best tricks I’ve used in the ring can be yours!”

"No longer will the Top Titles be out of your reach when you use these secrets fat cats like and Witastick don't want you knowing about..."

The screen switches over to Mark Flynn standing on a cliff in a flowing white shirt as his best strategies scroll downwards across the screen like a Greatest Hits Album.

VoiceOver: “Such as…”

"Lying."

“Stealing the belt after ambushing the titleholder.”

"Stealing the belt after someone else has ambushed the titleholder."

"Knocking out the referee and then cheating just before he wakes back up."

"Impersonating an Italian DJ and employing a Nintendo character to fight for you."

Cut to Flynn in the studio.

"This one you can get creative with. You don't have to be a DJ, he doesn't have to be a Nintendo character. Just as long as you're Italian and your employee was previously thought to be fictional."

Back to the cliff where Mark Flynn is throwing stones.

“Using Peter Gilmour as a Human Shield.”

"Using Peter Gilmour as a meat piñata."

“Getting yourself disqualified.”

“Sliding back into the ring when no one is looking and then tossing the last guy in the ring over the top rope."

“Cashing in a Briefcase."

Cuts back to Flynn.

"Seriously, I can't emphasize this enough. You have to actually cash in the briefcase, guys. Hand it to the referee at an opportune moment and steal them. Don’t just hang onto it for months, fucking use them."

"There are like five of them running around right now and I'm still the only guy in XWF history to cash one of these things in."

"Well, except for Scorpio. But, that guy’s a punk bitch."

Flynn shrugs. And points dramatically at the screen.

"And other classic strategems, like..."

Back to the beach, where Flynn is now in fishing gear, reeling something in from the water below.

"Brass Knuckles."

"Waiting until the champion knocks out everyone else, then throwing him out of the ring and climbing the ladder."

"Tax Evasion."

Cuts back to Flynn.

"That’s not what you think. See, that's a double meaning. I'm talking about ducking a clothesline from BMW Legend and former XWF non-Legend Tax, which is the best strategy because he's a slow drug-addicted homeless man..."

Back to the list. Where Flynn is repeatedly kicking an arm, whose owner is hanging onto the cliff.

"Evading Tax."

Back to Flynn.

"Wait no. Yeah. This one is about dodging a morphine addict. The other is recommending that you not pay taxes. My mistake."

Back to list. Where Flynn is smoking a cigarette over a cliff that no longer has an arm dangling over the side.

"And many more!"

STARWIPE.

Mark Flynn is lifting the board ever so slightly while his two assistants hold it for him.

“Higher.”

The board is raised, no more than a couple inches from its original position.

“All right.”

Flynn reaches behind the chalkboard…

And pulls out a 20" Bar Gas Chainsaw Chain Saw with a 52cc Engine. Black blade, orange handle, the blade screams and howls for oak, shaking in Flynn’s bare hands…

The same assistant as before tries to raise protest.

“Um, Mr. Flynn, given the situation, that seems exces-“

“Hold it steady,” Flynn says as he slides on protective eyewear and earmuffs.

Cut to Mark Flynn pressing his quickly swishing blade through the wood. His two assistants buckle as the blade slips into the wood, shaking and gyrating all members of the assembled trio.

Flynn screams out just over the sound of the deafening buzz, “SHADES OF HACKSAW JIM DUGGAN!”

STARWIPE.

Flynn again points at the camera in glee.

“And if you want a taste of the kind of self-defense prowess I can provide you in my thirty minute Mark Flynn Fighting System Volume 1 package, let me show you an example lesson: How to defend yourself from two guys fighting each other.”

Cut to the two assistants, one behind the other in a standing waist lock. Flynn calls from off screen.

“All right, when I call action, the scenario begins. Are you two ready?”

The one in the waist lock shakes his head stepping forward slightly as his associate follows him with little steps. “Mr. Flynn, I’m not really clear on what we’re doing. Are we supposed to attack you or d-“

“ACTION!”

Flynn leaps onto the screen and bashes the one in front with a steel folding chair.

“SELF DEFENSE! NO MEANS NO!”

The struck assistant crumples onto his back in a heap with a busted skull. The opposite attack drops his friend as his hands shoot into the air.

“What the f-“

Flynn nails the one still standing. Blood from his skull splatters onto the stage as he drops like wet cement.

“WHISTLE SOUNDS! POLICE!”

Flynn drops to the stage and covers the nearest assistant, counting three with his own hand slapping the ground.

VoiceOver: “If you’re tired of other people getting titles because of sudden mysterious disappearances and people giving away their belts to not you. Wouldn’t you like to get belts given away to you? Wouldn’t you like to know and be a part of why former champions suddenly disappeared?”

“The Mark Flynn Fighting System Vol 1! Don’t Delay! Call Today!”

Cut back to Mark Flynn sitting on top of both assistants stacked ontop of one another like pallets.

Wink.

“No refunds.”