As Oswaldo speaks, suddenly he freeze-frames and turns black and white.

A colorized Mark Flynn Christopher K. Clinton steps out in front of the scene like he’s standing in front of a green screen.

“Does THIS sound familiar? Then call Christopher K. Clinton, Esquire!” The toll-free number beneath him is now flashing.

Clinton points at the screen so hard, his false mustache quivers on his face.

“Have you suffered damage to your reputation and limbs because Big Money Oswald accused YOU of being part of an intricate conspiracy against him!”

“Are you worried at your future employability as a wrestling official because your good name and arms have been respectively besmirched and bent the wrong way by Big Money Oswald?”

He turns his gaze, now pointing a different direction.

“I’ve got news for you! It’s illegal to beat someone up, even if you think they’re conspiring against you! I know that because I googled it!”

“Call Christopher K. Clinton today!”