The scene opens up in the XWF's backstage area.

Specifically in a dimly lit room adorned with classic wrestling posters and memorabilia. 

Mark Flynn, the X-Treme Champion, sits on a metal folding chair, completely lost in an old wrestling tape of himself. 

Mark mumbles to himself, chuckling as he watches a younger version of himself deliver a particularly impressive move.

Unknown to Mark, the door to the room creaks open slowly, revealing the imposing figure of Herschel Kiss. Distracted with a conversation on his cell phone, Herschel is looking for a quiet spot to finish his call.

"Nah man, I told you, those hot dogs at Fred's truck? Next level, bro," Herschel speaks into the phone, not paying attention to his surroundings.

Without noticing Mark, Herschel tries to take a seat on what he believes to be an unoccupied folding chair. 

There's a loud metal crunch, and in seconds, the chair gives way under the weight of the massive wrestler. 

Mark's eyes widen in shock as he finds himself suddenly sandwiched between Herschel's 514.5 pounds, the remnants of the folding chair, and the cold hard floor.

"Yo, what the?!" Herschel exclaims, finally hanging up the phone and realizing the predicament he's inadvertently caused. 

The TV continues to play, and in the midst of his surprise, Herschel spots the X-Treme Championship belt beside the TV.

"Wait a minute..." He thinks aloud as he looks down to see Flynns flailing arms.

Seeing an opportunity, Herschel remains seated, essentially pinning the hapless Mark Flynn beneath him. 

An impromptu referee rushes into the room, sliding into position to make the count.

"One! Two!"

KICKOUT!

...Or... Honestly, more like ROLLOVER!

Flynn knows there's just too much Herschel to kick out completely...

Fortunately, Herschel didn't quite sit with Flynn completely at the center of his massive, powerful ass, which afforded Flynn just enough space to roll a shoulder off the mat and break the pin.

...

Phew. Flynn breathes a crushed sigh of relief... Keeping his shoulder off the mat, turning himself toward the screen.

"...Hey... Hershey." Flynn wheezes.

...

"If you're... gonna stick... around..." Flynn gasps for air.

...

"Turn up... the volume." Flynn half-grins. "I love this part..."

On-screen, a Flynn ten years younger is hitting Peter Gilmour over the head with a steel folding chair, again and again!

"True... story... I later learned... Gilly lacked the necessary brain matter to get a concussion..."

...

Flynn chuckles.

"Didn't... stop me... *phew*... from trying..."

Flynn tries to crane his neck over to a bucket of popcorn...

...

Nope, too far away.