But Flynn rolls with roll-up! His shoulders roll off the ground! Flynn winds up facing forward, with Dionysus's arm trapped twixt his legs!

Is he going for his patented Fujiwara armbar?

No, he's going...

He's going!

...

He's going for a sack of letters on the floor!

"This next question reads..."




"Great question, Dion."

Flynn walks over to a mannequin, wearing a cummerbund around his waist... Flynn gestures towards its top and bottom halves...

"See, a cummerbund is a fabric sash, designed to provide a clear visual transition between the shirt and the waistband of an outfit."

Flynn then points to the belt(?) around his waist.

"As you can see, I'm not wearing a shirt. So, there is no need for visual transition. Thus, the title is not a cummerbund."

Irwin wanders out next to Flynn, sporting a belt and nothing else. A censor bar covers the entire bottom half of the screen.

"But, Mister Flynn." Irwin says, staring straight down at a script in his hands. "If you wear a cummerbund without a shirt, that doesn't make it a belt. Why would you not wearing a shirt prove your title belt, isn't a cummerbund?"

"Well, Irwin, I... Wait. I didn't write that."

Flynn snatches the script out of Irwin's hands.

...

He skims it.

"Where the fuck did this script come from?"

...

"And is my belt (slash cummerbund (maybe))... growing?"

Flynn and Irwin both stare down at the X-Treme Title, which is the size of a manhole cover.

...

"No."

...

"Right?"

...

"This is getting weird."

...

"Anyway, kickout."