A single spotlight illuminates a podium, with the HOW seal, blazoned Red97 on the front. After a few moments of murmurs, flashbulbs go off as Mary-Lynn Mayweather, dressed in her trademark red skirt suit with her emerald framed ruby lens glasses takes front stage. She stacks a handful of papers on the podium, as she looks tentatively over her shoulder to her client, High Flyer. He stands there, business casual, arms crossed over his chest. Without a word, he nods to her. Mary-Lynn sighs, taps the mic twice, as the murmurs in the crowd die down.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Welcome everyone to today’s press conference. I’ve been advised by my client to read the following verbiage verbatim. I want to stress that the views and opinions contained therein are not part of the Odessa Wrestling Dungeon, nor are they part of Tiny Attorney LLC, or High Octane Wrestling. They are the views of HOW wrestler and professional voice actor, Jack Harmen, better known to the wrestling world as High Flyer. With that out of the way…
Mary-Lynn looks back over her shoulder, and Flyer rolls his hand in a “continue” motion. MLM’s nostrils flare just slightly as she turns back to her notes.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: L-I-N-D-S-E-Y.
MLM rolls her eyes.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: My client would like to inform you, he seriously considered coming down during Dan Ryan’s match with Conor Fuse, just to ensure that he would get to see you and Ryan beat the tar out of each other. It was unnecessary, and instead, he got to enjoy the blood bath from the comfort of his home — rather than from the much more visceral and preferred method of being in the ring alongside you two throwing haymakers. It was satisfying all the same. My client is well aware of the expectations, the slings of “Dead Weight,” the accusations of “Not Good Enough Anymore” and the inevitable “You’re not worth my time anymore Jackie-poo.”
Mary-Lynn stops and turns to Harmen, mouthing “Jackie-poo” in disbelief. Harmen nonverbally tells her to ignore it and continue on.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Enjoy your barbs. The present is the only thing that matters. Moving forward, onward, upward, twirling toward infinity. (she mouths “who wrote this” and mentally answers her own question) In addition, my client would like to advise that you have “taught me nothing,” — is that me me? Or you me? Me me. Oh, he’d like to advise that you’ve taught Mary-Lynn nothing —
Mary-Lynn rolls her eyes as Harmen stomps his foot on the wooden auditorium boards, drawing her attention. She acquiesces, apologies and continues.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: You are a size 2 brain in a size 12 body with a negative booty? What the hell even is this.
Without another word, Harmen has since grabbed one of those rain sticks and slams it into the podium as a sign of disapproval.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: The following three pages are just Jack misspelling expletives… Aaaaand. I think we’re done. Any questions? Yes, you in the green tie.
The Report stands. He’s in a group of maybe ten people. They all seem very confused.
Man: Yes, why are we here?
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Good question. I don’t know. I’ve made poor life decisions.
Mary-Lynn points to herself.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: What’s your excuse? Next question.
Mary-Lynn points to the crowd.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: You, in the shirt.
A man points to himself, nods in understanding and stands.
Man: DEATH BY SNOO SNOO!
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Alright. Would someone escort the drunken and disorderly William Dunlevy out of HOW? Alright, next… you in the other shirt.
A woman points confused at herself.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Yes.
Woman: What would your client say about the fact that, since Lindsay Troy and Dan Ryan joined the Group of Death, their careers have seemed to garner a fairly significant amount of traction, while High Flyer has not had a PPV match —
Before she can finish, Flyer leans in, grabbing the microphone from the podium.
High Flyer: Interview’s over.
High Flyer proceeds to throw a grenade into the crowd, as tear gas disperses the crowd. Mary-Lynn Mayweather sighs, rolling her eyes.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: I hate that you found that online bulk weapons supply store.
High Flyer smiles smugly toward Mary-Lynn.
High Flyer: I love that I found it. Genuine rations.
High Flyer pulls out a tin of sardines from 1942, and takes a deep inhale.
High Flyer: Mmmm. Mmm. Great.
As the chaos continues, another tear gas canister falls from Flyer’s pants and starts smoking on stage. MLM and Flyer look at each other, as Flyer begins to shout.
High Flyer: Shi—
CUTTO: A picture of High Flyer, flying a crashing helicopter into the eye cavity of Max Kael while Lee Best shouts instructions from the bottom right corner of the screen with a megaphone. The text emblazoned on screen is “Technical Difficulties. We’ll Be Right Back” as soft elevator music plays.