Monstah Mike arrived at the ring in clingy pink trunks, looking incredible, and had absolutely no intention of wrestling anyone.

Z-Man had other ideas.

Mike is mid-pose when Z-Man walks in — flexing, admiring, completely in his own world. Z-Man is outraged. This is a wrestling ring, not a bodybuilding stage. He goads Mike into a match and immediately regrets it — because Monstah Mike, it turns out, can wrestle just fine. He dominates Z-Man in the early going, flexing and posing deliberately while he has Z-Man locked up, making it very clear that he can do both and Z-Man can do nothing about it.

Then Z-Man lands a low blow. And everything changes.

With Mike suddenly vulnerable, Z-Man takes control and turns the match into something else entirely. He forces Monstah Mike to flex for him — trapping him in holds and refusing to release until Mike performs on command.

Impotent flexing.

Humiliating poses.

Z-Man calling the shots on which muscle gets flexed next.

Then the whip comes out. Z-Man uses it to direct Monstah Mike through a full posing routine — chest, abs, most muscular, bow and arrow — snapping it to indicate which pose comes next. The most aesthetic man in the room, reduced to performing on command in tiny pink trunks.

Mike deserves to be worshipped. Z-Man agrees. He just has a very specific idea of how that should go.