Here we are, back again, pulling on the tights one more time. I went with the retro, black and green ones this time. They’re a little tighter than when I last wore them, but I figured I’d keep with the theme of things going full circle.
When I won War Games and was crowned World champion again, I was truly elated. The relief I felt was overwhelming. I was on the needle when HOW turned the lights back on and had to clean up my act fast, clawing myself back up the ladder and back to fitness. There was a moment when I thought I should never have come back. That I should have just taken a lethal dose of vitamin-H and slipped away peacefully out of this world, leaving only the good memories of the success I’d had in my wake. Then there I was, the soul survivor with the only thing I ever, truly, cared about hung over my shoulder.
I can’t explain it. It’s like all the steam had evaporated from my body. I had nothing left. My brain shut down and I was soon finding myself ripped apart by Halitosis and kissing, what was supposed to be, another glorious World title reign goodbye.
It’s as simple as that folks. If your head aint right and you don’t have the fight in ya? Then you can’t compete. So I walked away, quietly. Stepped back into the shadows. Crawled under my rock.Took myself off the grid..
I went dark.
I’m not gonna explain to you all where I’ve been all this time, what I’ve been up to, or how I’ve been surviving. It doesn’t matter and, quite frankly? It’s none of your fucking business. All you need to know is that I’m BACK! I’m clean. I’m sharp. My mind is in the right place and physically I feel better than ever. Sure, my pecs are starting to sag and my body isn’t the ripped adonis form it once was. But I’m still strong and I still harbour all the tools that gave me the right to the claim that I am the greatest technical wrestler of all time.
Why am I back?
Because Lee needs me. When Kostoff shoved that pen in his one good eye he knew that he had to do something. God, cannot show any weakness, especially now with all these new faces walking the floors. Taking out Kostoff was a business decision that needed to be made. Lee knew that Jatt had softened over time and probably didn’t have the stomach to do what we did, alone. That’s where I come in. The man who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone, or anything except for himself. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t as easy as you think. You don’t compete against, and with a Legend like Kostoff for nearly twenty years without a twinge of emotion. But Jatt and I showed NO REMORSE.
Deep down Jatt is a killer. We’re talking about a man who stripped my ex wife naked and forced me to watch as he beat her within an inch of her life. We laugh about it now, but the fact is I’m going to bring that back out of him. Nobody knows me better than Jatt. And nobody knows Jatt better than me. All the blood baths, Iron man matches and fights we’ve had over the years, gives you the insight into one another’s soul, popping open the hood and finding out how that machine really ticks. When I first came to his company, almost twenty years ago, Jatt was the man to beat. He was the poster boy. Lee’s prized asset. His unique charisma sold millions and his ability won countless titles. My first ever World title reign came from beating Jatt Starr, and in that moment I knew I’d risen to the top of the wrestling mountain. Jatt may be an aloof, idiot savant. But side by side he and I are unstoppable.
HOW needs fucking murderers like us, not snowflakes. That’s what made it special. We don’t need bottom feeders like McKinney and Storm stinking out the ring week after week. That’s why Jatt and I tossed them in the trash. If you can’t perform or don’t fit the mould? Then we’ll dispose of you the only way we know how, and more importantly, the only way we want to.
Next on our list?
The eGG bandits. Last week Doozer and Rick stunk the arena out. And it wasn’t rotten eggs. Their performance was nothing less than pure garbage. Even Jiles know’s that the bandits are cracking, scrambled..all the fucking egg puns…they’re fucked! They’re over. DUNZO. StarrSek industries, *deep sigh*, are scraping, what’s left of you all, out of the pan and into the trash. A new Alliance is in town and we come bearing messages. And you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.
Bobby Dean, you’ve had your chances here in HOW. Chance after chance after chance. I thought something good was finally going to happen when you lost all that timber. Yet still, you’re nothing more than the walking punchline you always were. It won’t be ‘NPC’s’ you need to hire after our match, it’ll be a personal trainer. Because once we’ve finished demoralising you and the rest of the fucking ass bandits you’ll be back to dunkin donuts and deep fried mars bars you fat FUCK.
Zeb Martin? I don’t know who you are. I don’t care. All I know is that you stand with a team that has gone rotten. When you look across the ring at Jatt and I, I hope you understand that you are in the presence of greatness, and that you are honoured to be on the opposite side to the two biggest Icons in the history of this company. When you lose, you will have two choices. Walk away with your tail between your legs? Or learn, and move forward. There is more to be gained from a loss to the likes of Jatt and I than there ever could be from the small victories you’ve had up until now. Saturday night could be the most important lesson in your development as a professional wrestler. Don’t squander it. Perhaps then, there may be a future for you as we turn back the clock and restore greatness to the land of HOW.
The Alliance is back.
Lee’s greatest strength always came from the Best Alliance and here we all stand.
The Minister/ Max Kael.
John, Fucking, Sektor.
Backed by the Boss and the Legend that is Marvelous, Mario Maurako, we now stand united as arguably the most powerful Alliance that Professional wrestling has ever seen.
The old days?
The good days?
The all or NOTHING, days?
We’re bringing them back!
Tuesday, September 22nd
Somewhere in Montanna..
It’s coming up to midday and the Gold Standard is still face down on a stiff mattress, drooling into the pillow inside his motel room. He’s almost completely naked, save for a loose pair of briefs which, unfortunately, his left testicle is hanging out the side of. The room has that classic, rustic, run down look that most cheap, road side, motels have. Dated curtains fail to stop the blazing sun from giving the room a dull yellow glow. The carpets are grey from years of grubby shoes walking all over them and spilled drinks, vomit and possibly blood. An empty bottle of Jim Beam and an ashtray full of cigar stumps tell the tale of Sektor’s evening after he had arrived back from the night on the town with Jatt Starr. The only thing missing is a woman half his age lying next to him.
His brow tightens as the sound of a vehicle’s horn starts blasting outside his room. It takes time for the lights to switch on in his old, concussed and inebriated brain, but eventually a growing groan begins to reverbarate from deep in his throat and out through his mouth.
BEEEEEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEEEEEEEEP! BE-BE-BE-BE-BE..BEEP–BEEEEEEEEEEEP!!
A trembling hand reaches up to the wrinkled brow of the Hall of Famer as the dull throb begins to play in his head. He turns over and tries to sit up but stops, with a wince, as he feels a bowling ball spit out of the ball return and smash into the back of his head.
SEKTOR: Qué diablos?!
Pain or not, the final and drawn out honk of the horn causes Sektors lips to curl around his gritted teeth like a pissed off rottweiler. He jumps up from the bed and rips back the stained and tattered curtains to see what the commotion is outside. His eyes squint and need time to adjust to the brightness as he tries to assess the situation. Eventually they focus and he lets out a long and drawn out sigh.
SEKTOR: Hijo de puta..
His spanish sigh comes after seeing Jatt Starr, dressed top to toe in a bright red track suit, staring back at him with a shit eating grin. What’s more is he’s stood at the driver side door of a black van with the logo:
..vinyled on the side of it in gold lettering. Before Sektor can truly react, his attention is turned towards the sound of an angry woman’s voice coming from the room next door.
“The fucks the matter with you? I’ve literally just got my baby to sleep after being up all night you inconsiderate fucking moron!”
Sektor watches and listens to the conversation for a second through the thin and cloudy glass of the motel room window.
JATT STARR: Hey take it easy, lady or you’ll get one of them brain botulisms.
“I will NOT take it easy. Do you have any idea what kind of night we’ve had. DO YOU?”
JATT STARR: “The night you’ve had? Lady, I’ve been out all night, boogeying on down to Funkytown with my main man in there…you don’t hear me complaining about noise!”
Sektor claws a hand down his face, looking exhausted and nowhere near ready to be dealing with something like this.
SEKTOR: Jatt Starr, outside my room in a bright red fucking tracksuit, arguing with the bitch next door. Eugh..
“That’s because you’re the one making all the noise, you dickless little prick. I don’t give a flying fuck what you and your boyfriend where doing!”
At that point Sektors back straightens like an arrow and he makes a bee-line for the door, yanking it open and marching onto the wooden boards outside the room with purpose. His eyes pierce the soul of the angry woman, who is standing in a t-shirt ten sizes too big for her with blonde, scraggy hair all out of place. The blood curdling screams of a disturbed baby can be heard coming from inside her room.
SEKTOR: Right lady, you’ve made your point, go back in your room and mind your Goddamn business, eh?
The woman does that thing that women do when their head snaps back and wobbles from side to side with a face full of disgust.
Woman: “Who the fuck do you think YOU are telling ME what to do?”
Before he can reply, a man, presumably the woman’s husband or partner, joins her outside, tentatively placing his hands around her shoulders.
Man: C’mon, hunny, let’s go back inside, you’ve made your point.
The woman rejects his hands with a violent jerk of the shoulders.
Woman: Don’t you, hunny, me! These dipshits woke our baby!
Sektor smirks as he realises who wears the pants in that relationship. He brings up a stiff and authoritative index finger in the direction of the placid man.
SEKTOR: Listen buddy, you better put a leash on her before she gets bitten!
The woman’s mouth almost hits the deck in astonishment.
SEKTOR: If you want I got a nice heavy belt inside you can borrow?
The woman snaps her head towards her husband, a skinny drip of a man with thick rimmed glasses and a pointy nose.
Woman: You gonna let him talk to me like that?
Sektor just laughs.
SEKTOR: Equal rights, BITCH!
Man: Let’s just go back inside, Annie’s upset. Plus, I don’t like the look of them..
He tries to say the last part quietly but there is nothing wrong with Sektor’s ears as he smiles even more.
SEKTOR: Yeah you better listen to your boy, darlin. I’m a bad man. A very bad man!
Sektor watches with a smirk of pleasure as the woman is escorted back into her room, muttering profanity at her husband. As the door shuts, Sektor’s complexion turns very serious. He turns around and looks at Jatt who is gritting his teeth and all tense, as if to say ‘YIKES.’
JATT STARR: Well that was awkward…
SEKTOR: Never mind them! What, in the name of fuck, is this?
The former Icon title record holder extends his arms towards the van in front of him, which sparks a flurry of excitement from the Sultan of SeaJattle.
JATT STARR: This, my good man, is our newest form of transportation. John Skel…er, Sektor, I’d like you to meet.
He brings tapping his hands rapidly on the bodywork of the van like a drum roll.
JATT STARR: The StarrSek Enterprise..
Cue the tumbleweed and anti-climatic sound of a party blower as Sektor’s expression doesn’t budge from that of bemusement. Sensing his partner’s lack of enthusiasm, the Thane of Starrkarth uses a finger to say ‘hold that thought,’ moving to the side door and pausing before sliding it open.
JATT STARR: TADARRRR!
Sektor looks inside and can see that it has been converted into a camper van. It has a very cramped kitchen area, two seats facing opposite one another with a fold away table in the middle. That’s pretty much it.
JATT STARR: Every waste management business needs a van, John-boy. Look, it has an espresso machine, a mini bar, the seats fold down into a double bed and it even has a toilet in the back for when we have to lead the Browns to the Super Bowl if you catch my meaning.
SEKTOR: Hold on! What was that part about a double bed?
Whilst Sektor’s eyes bulge with deep concern, the Starrabian Knight can’t seem to understand what the confusion is all about.
JATT STARR: Well, heh, we’re gonna need somewhere to sleep, buddy. It’s like an eighteen hour drive to Chicago.
Sektor’s head cocks to one side, his eye twitching as he starts to realise that this might not be a joke.
SEKTOR: Jatt, if you think I’m sleeping in that thing with you, you’re out of your fucking mind!
JATT STARR: What? Don’t worry, we can go topsies and toesies.
Sektors eyes clenched shut as his hands drew up to his temples. He begins massaging them in a circular motion.
SEKTOR: Jatt, why can’t we just get a plane like any normal person would?
Jatt smiles, with a bemused squint of the eyes.
JATT STARR: Where’s the fun in that? C’mon It’ll be great. Just like the old days, driving up and down the road, going from show to show. Think about your carbon footprint.
SEKTOR: Mother fucker, you had your own private JET!
Jatt sighs, remaining calm and smiling, planting a reassuring hand on his partners shoulders.
JATT STARR: The ex got it in the divorce plus full custody of my son and my Star Trek phaser signed by Leonard Nimoy himself. Look, John. This is happening. Just go inside, take a shower, get your gear and I’ll have a nice steaming cup’a Joe waiting for ya when ya get back. Alright?
Sektor sighs, looking as though he could cry as he concedes defeat and turns to head back inside the hotel room.
A hot shower and some time later..
Jatt is sat waiting patiently in the passenger side of the van, tapping his foot as he enjoys the soothing sound of David Bowie’s voice coming out of the van radio.
JATT STARR: “Turn and face the strange, Ch-Ch-CHANGES!”
He’s then cut off mid song as the sound of the van door sliding open makes his look over his shoulders. A less than impressed John Sektor glances back at him as he tosses a large duffel bag into the back. He then climbs in the driver side, dressed top to toe in white shirt and white pants, accessories by tan loafers and dripping in gold jewelry. His hair is neatly slicked back and the famous ‘slick Daddy’ has been freshly shampooed, conditioned, oiled and combed.
SEKTOR: Guess I’m driving then.
JATT STARR: Well, yeah. Figured you’d like to break, the old girl in. You got your licence back, right?
He asks, looking concerned as he reads Sektor’s awkward expression and utter silence. The Gold Standard reaches down and turns the key in the ignition, firing up the engine on the StarrSek Enterprise.
JATT STARR: (In a muffled voice through cupped hands). Pshchhh, Captain’s log, StarrGate, 1-2-1-2-9..
SEKTOR: Don’t do that please..
Jatt’s head bows forward with disappointment as Sektor releases the parking-break and puts it in drive. Before he begins to pull away, a puzzled look emerges.
SEKTOR: Don’t you have a guy for this?
JATT STARR: Who, Switch? Yeah, he dropped me off. But he said he’d prefer to meet us in Chicago. He’s catching a flight later this week. Besides, he’d just be a third wheel.
Sektor stares in disbelief at the innocent and sickeningly happy expression on Jatt’s face before aggressively driving the van forward out of the motel parking lot, blasting the horn a few times to stick it to that bitch in the motel.
Jatt laughs and pulls down an imaginary truck horn with a clenched fist, clearly excited by the adventure that he has designed for the two of them on their road trip, to God knows where.
JATT STARR: Your coffee is just here, as promised.
He motions towards a travel mug which sits in a dual drinks holder built into the interior of the van. Sektor picks it up and toasts it in Jatt’s direction as his version of a thank you.
JATT STARR: So, where to first, amigo?
SEKTOR: There’s a Denny’s up the road. I need some greasy food inside me to kick this hangover.
Sektor hears the zipper on Jatt’s, ugly, tracksuit and tries to watch out the corner of his eye at what he is doing. The King of Grapple from the Big Apple then begins to wiggle a stainless steel hipflask in his face, causing him to lose his steering for a brief second.
JATT STARR: A little hair of the dog, should sort that out.
The Lime Green Wrestling Machine snatches the hip flask out of his hand.
SEKTOR: The fuck are you doing? It’s not even midday..
JATT STARR: I hope you’re not gonna get all, high and mighty, on me Sek? I thought I made it pretty obvious during the boat race in freaky teaky’s last night that I’m no longer on the wagon..
SEKTOR: Yeah and that’s fine. Letting off steam is one thing. But you and I both know how easy it is to lose all control of this. We gotta keep each other focussed, so for now? Until we’ve beaten the ass bandits? We’re on nothing but G-Fuel, Protein shakes and coffee my friend.
Jatt pulls a disgusted expression.
JATT STARR: Eugh, Protein shakes. Living in this van is going to be harder than I thought.
SEKTOR: Which is why we will be staying in a hotel..
Jatt chooses to ignore that last statement, gazing out the window as the world passes by, starting to look deep in thought. An honest smile then spreads across his aging face as he turns back to his partner.
JATT STARR: That 80’s themed night club was something though, huh? I haven’t done the safety dance in years..
SEKTOR: It was, until you completely COCK blocked me with that college student.
JATT STARR: She wasn’t right for you, John. I could smell the trouble oozing out of her from across the dance floor. That’s why I made the save. Edgar Allen Bro! No thanks necessary.
SEKTOR: I wasn’t looking to marry her you dumb fuck! Jesus, If I’d gotten my dick wet last night I wouldn’t be in this foul mood right now! Some wing man you are..
Jatt seems disappointed with himself as he bows his head, running a hand through his thick, mop of blonde hair, which he clearly dyes. An awkward silence accompanies the pair and second, a look of remorse glances across at the passenger seat.
SEKTOR: So what are we gonna do when we get to Chicago? Put some blood and sweat into the gym so I can prove I’m not rusty?
Jatt rolls his eyes.
JATT STARR: We’re still on that?
Sektor just smirks, letting Jatt see that he’s just playing around.
JATT STARR: I thought we could meet up with the rest of the boys, get the band together. The Marquis of MadagaStarr needs to get to know this, so called, number one dad of HOW. I’m sure Gilda would have a thing or two to say about that, if she were still around….And I bet Chloe, right?.
Jatt stops, realising that he’s creeping into dangerous territory as he notices Sektor’s grip on the steering wheel begin to tighten and his elbows begin to lock at the hinges. Jatt seems to hesitate, perhaps deciding whether or not to spit out whatever is on the tip of his tongue.
JATT STARR: Speaking of which, are you, going to speak to Max about..
The leather of the steering wheel begins to squeak as Sektor knuckles turn white.
JATT STARR: Never mind.
Sektor’s face is picture of pure emotion. Pain? Anguish? Regret? All of the above. He eventually takes a deep breath and begins to loosen his grip, soften his shoulders and putting it all back into the little lock box in his mind.
SEKTOR: These eGG bandits. The two we’re facing, in particular. What do we know about them as a team?
JATT STARR: Besides the fact that their schtick is as old as the Hindenburg and they’re as obsolete as a switchboard operator? Well, let me just consult my, HEN-cyclopaedia..
SEKTOR: Por el amor de Dios..
Jatt frowns, obviously not well versed on the Spanish-Cuban language that Sektor speaks.
SEKTOR: For the love of God, please..no more egg jokes.
JATT STARR: Don’t you mean, no more egg…YOLKS!
As Jatt laughs uncontrollably, Sektor motions smashing his own forehead repeatedly into the steering wheel.
The silence is painful. At one point Sektor is literally staring at the hip flask he placed in the hold of the driver side door. He again resets and takes a deep breath. Suddenly, catching Jatt off guard, the Gold Standard begins chuckling to himself. Jatt smiles and begins nodding.
JATT STARR: You just got the Hen-Cyclopaedia gag, right?
SEKTOR: No not that. It’s that thing Lee said about Mario’s, hahaha, Mario’s..
Sektor waves his hand and can’t get the words out as tears begin to roll down his face.
SEKTOR: The Carey FINGER BANGER!
The laughs are more like screams now as Jatt just smiles and nods, clearly not as tickled by the joke as Sektor was. Eventually Sektor composes himself, clears his throat and turns his expression back to business.
SEKTOR: You’re right though. We have to be ready, and we CANNOT lose this match. There’s a risk of a reaction from last week. What better way to restore credibility to the eGG Bandit name than with a huge win over two of the biggest Hall of Famers of all time. And what would that mean for us?
Jatt shifts uneasily in his seat, clearly uncomfortable even thinking about such a notion.
SEKTOR: We both know that Bobby has it in him. Fuck, he nearly had Lee’s little bitch, Dane this last show. We’re just the two kind of guys to get Bobby all fired up. And Zeb? I don’t know much about him, but I know what it’s like coming into a new company and trying to be the loudest guy in the room with a roster full of vets. A victory like this would look pretty nice on his win/loss record.
JATT STARR: If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were starting to sound worried.
Sektor shakes his head and dismisses that notion with the wave of a hand.
SEKTOR: I’m not worried. All I’m saying is that they have something to prove. But so do we. They’ll look at us as two old, washed up, saggy has beens..
JATT STARR: Speak for yourself..
SEKTOR: They’re faster and younger. So we have to be smarter and better. We control the pace of this match Saturday night. We control that ring, cut it off, make it nice and small. We give them no room to work or think, or get any momentum going. That’s how we win this match. Nice and simple. No frills, no showboating, just well executed scientific wrestling.
Jatt nods in agreement.
JATT STARR: Sounds like a plan, Stan!
Sektor smirks and pulls out a fresh Cuban from the breast pocket of his shirt, running it across the bristles of his prized moustache as he gives it a deep and satisfying sniff. For once he looks relaxed.
JATT STARR: You know, it’s a shame we have to wrestle them on a Saturday..
SEKTOR: Oh yeah? Why’s that?
He uses a cigar cutter to click the end, placing the stogie between his pearly whites, not noticing Jatt staring at him with a huge, cheesy, grin.
JATT STARR: Because everyone knows that the one day of the week eGG’s are afraid of…is FRY-DAY!