Bobby sits at a table, looking forlorn. Fuschia, rockin' space babe, comes and sits at the table.

Hey.

Hi.

What's wrong?

Nothing.

No, something's wrong.

Well, it's my ongoing feud with North Korean War Criminal.

Oh, you mean the goofy guy that gives Mark Flynn any kind of humanity or semblance of relatability?

Yeah.

Well, I mean, hon, that guy and his partner asked where you were for six weeks.

I know!

Well, where was he for six years of your supposed ongoing feud? I mean, you've taken on all comers, including a Universal Championship reign and losing to the Alias for the Uni on a technicality. He's been, well, farting into a bag while listening to a Walk-Man and perpetrating that North Korea is a thread even though now is the time for evil Russians to come back into vogue.

Bobby looks back at Fuschia and smiles. She kisses him.

Hiding under a table two tables over...

It's NK and Flynn.

Flynn is looking through a set of binoculars.

They're still doing the whole space cops routine. Remember, from last Warfare? When they tried to beak into Jay Omega's locker room. Yeah you do.

"NK! 12 o'clock."

NK looks out through his own set of binoculars.

"What do you see, Mark Flynn?"

"Bobby Bourbon is canoodling with a Class 5 Space Babe. It might have something to do with the alternate dimension he got sent to."

"You have incredible vision, Mark Flynn! I can't see much of anything at this distance!"

Flynn sighs and grabs NK's binoculars and flips them around. He was looking through them backwards.

"...Aha!"

...

"What do you think they're talking about, Mark Flynn?"

"Bobby's been deflecting recently, so I assume it has to do with the fact that we picked on him for being gone six weeks, while you were gone for six years."

"...I was dead. I was hung to death by a white supremacist. Even with my incredible physical recovery, that sort of attack takes time to recover from..."

"I recall."

"In fact, I think we have a clip?"

Quote:Gaylord Cockchafer: What's this?!? A white-hoo-

"Absolutely not."

The clip cuts to fuzz.

Flynn slaps NK's hand. NK seethes in pain and blows hot air on it.

"Zero XWF fans want to watch footage of a hate crime. What do you think this is, 2016?"

Flynn shoves his binoculars over to NK and he retrieves his lunchbox from under the table.

"Now, keep an eye on Bourbon in case we can learn anything from his makeout session about how to fight aliens..."

NK sighs, sucking on his struck hand... And continues to watch through the binoculars... He is briefly in awe.

"Bobby Bourbon is quite generous with his hip motions mid-facial intimacy..."

NK reaches into his front-pocket to make a note... Then shakes his head, deciding he'd rather not remember that.

"...Mark Flynn?"

"Yeah, NK?"

"...Do you ever worry you're not relatable..."

Flynn scoffs, as he jimmies out from inside the lunchbox a single baked chicken breast.

"I'm sure plenty of people out there relate to my lifestyle..."

Flynn suddenly drops to the floor and starts gnawing on the side of the chicken breast like a rabid dog.

NK is quite perturbed.

"Mark Flynn... To this day... I don't understand why you eat like that."

Flynn rolls his eyes.

"What, chicken breast? It's high in protein, low in fat. Hits my macros."

"Yes, fine, but why do you eat it like a feral cave dweller?"

Flynn stuffs the remaining half of chicken breast in his mouth and rips the meat in twain with his incisors. He rends the meat, still holding what remains of the chicken in his hands like a wild ape thing.

"Maximum caloric expenditure, NK."