A faint, persistent buzzing sound.

A packed house. People sitting l, shoulder-to-

In a hotel conference center.

Hanging above the stage at the front of the room’s focus…

Is a banner with the words “CREATING YOUR OPTIMAL PATH”...

“Words matter.”

From the left of the stage, stepping towards the center.

Wearing a headset mic and a pinstripe suit.

Is the Universal Champion, Mark Flynn.

“I’ll say that again. WORDS… MATTER.”

…Flynn lets that statement hang in the air for a few moments, letting it breathe on its own…

“What we SAY… is IMPORTANT.”

“The WORDS we CHOOSE… are the POINTS we PLOT on the ROADMAP guiding us to SUCCESS™.”

“Our WORDS become our ACTIONS. And without ACTIONS, we cannot ACHIEVE.”

“Do you think VICTORY is just a roll of the fucking dice? Who wins and who loses, flip a coin and find out, right?”

…Flynn angrily spins toward the crowd before him.

“Do you PINHEADS think… SUCCESS™ happens on accident?”

…

Flynn charges toward the crowd, spitting down at the audience beneath him.

“Is that what you fucking think? Is that what you think of ME?!?!”

The attendees, who paid hundreds of dollars for this seminar, alternate between nervously avoiding eye contact with the unhinged Flynn… And scribbling down every word he says…

…

“Oh, whoops!” Flynn hops from one foot to the other, hands in the air, pretending to be a befuddled buffoon. “I left my shoelaces untied, tripped down a few stairs and I fell into a big pile of ‘I AM THE UNIVERSAL CHAMPION’...” Flynn stuffs his thumb into his chest five times, once to punctuate every word of his accomplishment.

…

“NO.” He venomously spits at the crowd.

“Success is NOT accidental.”

…

He takes a step off the stage into the crowd pointing at them.

“Write that down.”

The sound of a couple hundred pencils scribbling all in unison fills the room, as these softboy fucks desperately write down what Flynn just said.

“Actually, someone file that trademark that for me.”

Flynn snaps at the back of the room. The faint sound of keys being pressed as an intern heads to file a trademark online…

“SUCCESS… is NOT… Accidental.” Flynn enunciates every word, as if every syllable were worth a fortune.

“… (trademark pending).”

Flynn smirks.

“I just came up with that.”

…Flynn gets an angry look on his face, shoving his finger into the crowd.

“NOT Accidentally. But, with INTENT.”

Flynn sneers at the sheer IMPLICATION that he didn’t COMPLETELY EARN that phrase he just came up with.

“I said it. I MEANT it. I ACTUALIZED IT. That phrase is my intellectual property now. I worked hard for that phrase.”

Flynn steps down and points at specific individuals in the crowd.

“Anyone who wrote it down when I told them to? You owe me a dollar. You’re licensing that thought from me. ILLEGALLY.”

…A few people flips their pencils to erase that sentence they just wrote down.

Another few reach into their pockets and pass a dollar bill down the line to the Optimal Path Staff at the ends of the chair rows…

…

Flynn snaps twice.

“All right. We’re gonna do an exercise together.”

Flynn paces up and down the stage like a caged tiger, riling himself up.

“See, the thing that makes you LOSERS is you lack VISION. Your statements… The words that come out of your mouth BETRAY YOU.”

“YOU. ARE. HYPOCRITES.”

With each word, Flynn jabs his finger into the audience like a sword piercing into their souls.

“You say ONE THING. And you DO another.”

…Flynn stares out at the crowd. His eyes fiery, with a palpable disdain. His lip dribbling with saliva from this screeching abuse, as if he was overwhelming with a profound loathing for each and every person in this room.

“We are going to RE-ALIGN YOUR VISION. Into one that is CONSISTENT. And FOCUSED.”

“Because if you want to take your first step onto the OPTIMAL PATH™? I can take you there.”

“But I can’t MAKE you follow the path, and reach SUCCESS™ at its peak. I will not WASTE my VALUABLE TIME… carrying you to the road to GLORY… Only to watch you wander off in the wrong direction.”

“SUCCESS™ requires FULL FOCUS™.”

…

“Now, let’s start that exercise.”

Flynn claps twice. A number of techies, dressed in all black, scramble onto the stage behind Flynn, quickly assembling components behind him… One can hear bits and screws being twisted and joined…

“I’ve gathered a number of… INCONSISTENT STATEMENTS… from a new TRAVELER ON THE OPTIMAL PATH™. A LOSER like you all, who has found herself sitting the PRECIPICE OF GREATNESS.”

“On the VERGE of a VIOLENCE… AN EXECUTION… That will be both TRANSFORMATIVE and BEAUTIFUL.”

“Because the POTENTIAL GROWTH of being DECIMATED… WHOLLY and COMPLETELY… By the MASTER OF FUCKING REALITY™… is transcedently wondrous.”

…

As Flynn finishes his self-adulation, a technie sprints up behind him and bows, offering as a lowly serf would offer a Pharoah his sword… One of those handheld mics for clicking through a slideshow.

Flynn snatches it out of his hand. The techie departs quickly to stage left, as do the rest.

Sitting behind Flynn is a freshly-assembled, white projection screen.

“I am, of course, talking about…”

Flynn clicks.



“Robyn Gonzalez. Also Known As Latina Submission Machina.”

…

“Now, if you take Robyn at her word? If you assume every word spewed from Robyn’s FESTERING GOB is true?”

Flynn scoffs, shrugging. “Pssh. Then, she’s already the Universal Champion. It’s a SURE THING.”

Flynn counts off LSM’s points on his fingers…

“She says she’s younger than me. She says she’s more athletic than me. She even CLAIMS… That she is a better wrestling technician than I am.”

Flynn’s hand drops to his side. Dejectedly, Flynn takes a load off, sitting down on the edge of the stage.

“And if all these things are true? Then, she is BETTER than me, right? I mean, she must be, right?”

…

The room is so silent at Flynn’s rhetorical question, you can actually HEAR anus muscles clench…

…

…Flynn’s eyes immediately target a beanpole-shaped geek in the front row, wearing an ‘Optimal Path’ t-shirt.

“Go ahead. You. Say it. Say she’s better than me.”

The nerd glances behind him, like… Flynn can’t be talking to him right now, right?

“No, you.” Flynn barks, spittle dribbling down his chin. “YOU. The fucking loser I’m making eye contact with.”

Flynn sits up off the stage and walks down into the crowd. The attendees begin to whisper and murmur. The dweeb is too terrified to speak.

“Go ahead.” Flynn kneels down, pressing his nose right into the dork’s face. Flynn reaches up and pulls his headset down from his face into the kid’s mouth.

“Say it. Say ‘LSM is better than Flynn’.”

“...Uh…” The kid stammers, his voice cracking so hard, he sounds like a trainwhistle... “I-I-Is this the… um… the exercise you were talking about?”

“SAY IT.” Flynn shouts, right into this pasty nerd’s face. “I CAN SEE IT IN YOUR FUCKING EYES. YOU WANNA SAY IT. SAY IT RIGHT NOW. LSM IS BETTER THAN MARK FLYNN.”

“...B-b-b-but, she’s not!”

“SAY IT TO MY FUCKING FACE. Say she’s better in the ring than I am.”

“N-n-no!”

“Say she’s more athletic than I am.”

“Sh-sh-she isn’t!”

“Say she’s YOUNGER than I am.”

…The nerd hesitates.

“...Uh. I mean, okay, that one’s true. B-”

Flynn grabs the nerd by the face and shoves his hand forward!

The nerd’s chair collapses backward! He ends up ass-over-teakettle, his limbs a tangled mess, looking befuddled and distraught as the fellow simps he lands on, all spread out and away from him like he’s a fucking leper, not wanting to touch the man that pissed off THE Mark Flynn.

“Get him the FUCK OUT OF HERE!” Flynn barks, re-adjusting the headset onto his face. Before the nerd can rise to his feet, a security team has surrounded him, grabbing him by the arms and hoisting him into the air.

“GET HIS WALLET! GO THROUGH HIS POCKETS AND GET HIS FUCKING WALLET. THEN TOSS HIM OUT WITH THE TRASH.” Flynn tosses off commands as the security team continues to haul this devastated geek into the alley. The nerd is thrown out, and the door is slammed behind him.

…For a moment, there is silence.

…

Then, one simp starts clapping.

Then, a dozen around him do the same.

Before you know it, the entire room is applauding this disgusting display.

…Flynn seems completely unbothered by their support, scratching the inside of his ear as he walks back onto the stage.

“The PROBLEM for Sweet Little Robyn IS… You can’t take her at her word.”

“You shouldn’t believe a fucking BREATH EXHALED from the lungs of Robyn Gonzalez.”

“Because IF… IF! You take Robyn Gonzalez at her word. Then, according to Miss Gonzalez, tag-team victories shouldn’t matter in head-to-head stats.”

“For context? I handed LSM her SECOND LOSS in her XWF career. But, according to her, who cares? It was a loss in a tag-team match! Those don’t count!”


Flynn spins back and shoves a finger into the air.

“BUT! If you take Robyn at her word, You ALSO conclude that tag-team losses DO count…  As she corrected Theo Pryce.”



“I guess we’re supposed to conclude that tag-team losses count… EXCEPT When they happen to LSM.”

“Isn’t that fucking fascinating? How Robyn’s values point outward but not inward? How she doesn’t HAVE beliefs? How her moral backbone is FUCKING JELLIFIED?”

“Robyn Gonzalez doesn’t have a fucking VALUE to her name because her word is SHIT.”

…

Flynn turns to the hard-cam and grins.

“Robby-poo? ¿Mi pequeña fea? When you tweet 38 times an hour? Look out for the motherfucker willing to comb through EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM to prove your words mean LESS. THAN. NOTHING.”

Flynn spins back ‘round.

“Shall I continue?”

Murmurs of approval. The simps nearly start clapping again, since Flynn seems to not hate applause…

Flynn clicks his mouse.

“My Universal Title Reign… On the verge of becoming longest Universal title reign in nearly two years.”

“But my REIGN… Is UNIMPRESSIVE… According to LSM. Because, as champion, I’ve only ever beaten challengers with overall losing records. Why should my wins against a challenger with an ‘awful record’ and ‘limited potential’.”



“Sure, I’m one of TWELVE Universal champions with a reign greater than one-hundred days… BUT, I *just* beat Marf, Dick Powers, Micheal Graves AND Atara Raven. Why should my wins against them impress anyone? They’re challengers, according to LSM, with AWFUL RECORDS and LIMITED POTENTIALS…”

…

“BUT! Robyn wants you to think SHE’LL be different. SHE’S POISED to beat me.”

…

“Despite the fact that she has a WORSE record than ONE-HUNDRED PERCENT of all challengers I’ve faced thus far in my title reign.”

“Literally. ALL OF THEM.”

“CHECK. MY. FUCKING. MATH™.”

…

“But, of course… LSM has a unique value that I can’t have. That *exclusivity* factor.”

“Because LSM is XWF through-and-through, isn’t she? That’s what I’VE FAILED to do, right? I’ve DEGRADED and DEVALUED the Universal Championship by making appearances on other promotions. Competing on RECORD-SETTING crossover shows! How DARE I compete all over the world against the best talent to ever run the fucking ropes?!?”

…

“This is, of course, ignoring the fact that the company last month logged RECORD PROFITS™. Apparently, profits were so high for the first time in history that Theo and Vinnie are giving their talent COMPREHENSIVE HEALTH INSURANCE.”



“And, I’d like to say… To the men and women currently enjoying health insurance for the first time in their careers… AFTER I snapped their fucking limbs like twigs in the center of that ring?”

…Flynn smiles deviously.

“You’re welcome. Because if your body was broken by someone LESS TALENTED. LESS ENTERTAINING. LESS FUCKING MONEY-MAKING. Then, the only way you could get a doctor to look at your broken FUCKING neck was a GoFundMe started by your buck-toothed relatives…”

Flynn points his thumb into his chest.

“I travelled to WGWF to prove that the best talent that Chris Page could scrounge together from the leftovers that Theo and Vinnie left for him is FUCKING PEANUTS COMPARED TO HIS PLACE. I went to ESTABLISH that XWF IS THE GREATEST TALENT POOL IN THE WRESTLING INDUSTRY.”

“And slice it however you want, but the only man I’ve lost to so far in the WGWF is ALSO AN XWF SUPERSTAR…”

Flynn spits on the stage. He’s so filled with bile and anger, that he can’t contain all in his throat…

“I have an UNDEFEATED RECORD in crossover events. I won FIVE MATCHES in THREE NIGHTS at the Cannabis Cup. Because I KNOW I’M CARRYING THE XWF BRAND ON MY FUCKING BACK, EVERY TIME I STEP INTO THAT RING…”

“That same event, Robyn lost in the first fucking round. To a loser who lost in the second round. THAT is how many TIERS BENEATH ME Robyn Gonzalez is. She loses to the losers who lose to the losers who lose to ME.”

…

“But, see, LSM? Is EXCLUSIVE. She would *never* degrade the XWF by appearing another program.”



“...Whoops.”

Flynn turns to the hard-cam. A small, promotional, blue-and-yellow bar appears on the screen, accompanied by LSM’s smiling face.

“Remember to catch LSM on Monday Night Clash! On Action Wrestling!”

…Flynn’s advertiser-friendly grin fades into a grimace.

“An organization where you’ve currently logged a record of… 0 wins, 2 losses.”

Flynn rubs his temples impatiently. “For fuck’s sake, Robyn. How is your .323 winning percentage in XWF STILL better than your wrestling record EVERYWHERE ELSE?”

“Of course, if you’d watched the Tara Fenix Charity Cruise, you might recall that I bested former Action Wrestling World Champion Corey Black in the Main Event Elimination Match. I made the fucking five best wrestlers AW could cobble together look like a pack of fucking green-as-gooseshit ROOKIES.”

“THAT is the talent pool… that LSM has SUNK to the BOTTOM OF. The same one I HUMILIATED.”

Flynn side-eyes the hardcam.

“Robyn, remind me which of us is DEVALUING the company with our non-XWF appearances?”

…Flynn shakes his head.

“But, of course, forget ALL OF THAT. You can’t dismiss Robyn’s work ethic. Robyn has the FIRE of a TRUE champion. Robyn Gonzalez is willing to OUTWORK me in that ring, right? Robyn Gonzalez is willing to ELEVATE the XWF, because she claims having her as Universal Champion, she’s a better, more reliable champion to pin the company’s future on…”

…

“To which I reply… Should the GREATEST WRESTLING FEDERATION IN THE HISTORY OF THIS SPORT… have a TOP CHAMPION… That FAILED to cut a promo on EIGHT DIFFERENT OCCASIONS.”

…

“Eight.”

“EIGHT DIFFERENT MATCHES.”

“CHECK. MY. FUCKING. MATH.”

“Robyn Gonzalez CHOSE to half-ass the promotion. To SKIP the training. To NEGLECT the part of this dance where you mentally dissect your opponent’s weaknesses… And inject weakness and fear into their game pre-match.”

“...EIGHT different matches.”

“FOUR of them Pay-Per-Views, which we all know, have the highest revenue expectations.”

“Two of them were TITLE MATCHES. That LSM just decided… Not to promote.”

“And one of them was the Cannabis Cup. The same night I delivered a promo WHILE guiding my partner through a psychosomatic drug freakout.”

…

“Why does that matter, Robyn? Right? Is that what you’re going to say next? Why does it matter? After all, you made it to the building. You found your way in the ring. You walked down that ramp. Why does it matter whether or not you cut a promo?”

“BECAUSE.”

“And I repeat.”

“WORDS MATTER.”

“The words we CHOOSE are the method by which we MANIFEST EFFORT into SUCCESS. A REAL CHAMPION™ summons with their thoughts Victory like he was ordering a FUCKING BIG MAC.”

“I WANT THREE WINS THIS MONTH. MAKE ONE A SUBMISSION. I’LL MEET YOU AT THE GODDAMN SECOND WINDOW.”

“Because… SUCCESS IS NOT ACCIDENTAL.”

…

Flynn looks to the back of the room.

A techie gives him a thumbs up! The order went through!

“TRADEMARK.” Flynn shouts with a fist pump.

“Because, ROBYN, the company uses those promos to PLUG the PRODUCT.”

“Have you ever stopped to think that the reason the company has consolidated its programming block to one show versus two? Is it because Mark Flynn, the workhorse champion who has defended his belt more times in four months than Raion Kido AND Peter Vaughn did in the same timeframe COMBINED? Is it because MARK FLYNN… The MASTER OF REALITY… The UNIVERSE TIER WRESTER (according to GM and wrestling critic Jonathan Barrows) isn’t pulling the slack?”

…

“Or is it YOU, Robyn? Is it talent like you? That begs week-in and week-out to be HANDED title opportunities. Only to NOT PROMOTE THEM. Is it the fucking SCUM-SUCKING PARASITES that cling onto my fucking bootstraps, instead of CLIMBING THE MOUNTAIN THEMSELVES.”

“That’s this company’s problem, Robyn. It’s not the top fucking 1% of the talent pool. It’s the bottom 90%. It’s you and people like you. The fucking pond sludge. The FUCKING BACTERIA that gather around the ring when you forget to wipe down the mat between matches.”

“THE LESSER. FUCKING. LIFEFORMS. That get to make a living working in a sport they have little-to-no-skill at… Because when money naturally trickles down off my work like the sweat of my brow…”

Flynn smiles and twirls his finger in a circle.

“There’s enough RECORD PROFITS™ to go around.”

…

“So, Robyn. When I BREAK you in the center of that ring… When I snap your arm out of your fucking socket like I’m pulling a fucking weed by its root. Like I’m ripping a fucking blood-sucking flea off the skin of the fatted calf that is the XWF.”

“I hope you remember…”

“That the company you CLAIM to love so much?

“It’s in good hands.”

“Trust me. Because my word? Fucking matters.”

The simps clap.

Standing ovation.

Flynn bows.

The curtain closes.