Better Than Diablo IV (if Diablo IV were “Custer’s Revenge”)

Better Than Diablo IV (if Diablo IV were “Custer’s Revenge”)

Posted on July 18, 2023 at 9:31 pm by Jatt Starr

If there was one thing Jatt Starr despised more than Joe Bergman, New York City sewer rats, stepping in poop, and cauliflower, it was being made to wait.   Dentist offices, doctor’s offices, Lee Best’s office, they were all the same.   Sitting in an uncomfortable chair waiting to be summoned for a check up, a cleaning, or to be told that Lee Best was not seeing anyone else for the day.   Fucking asshole.  Not that he would say it to his face, but the Mayor of ManJattan knew that Lee Best was a fucking asshole.  


At least the chairs in this office were made of a nice velour fabric, his buttocks felt like they were resting on a cloud.   He looked at the rather extravagant portrait behind the desk, a rather elegant looking gentleman with slicked back black hair and a pencil thin mustache, looking dapper in a light tan three piece suit.  The Hero of Jattlanta wondered if this was the religious leader he was here to meet.  If so, he knew he would not like him.  He looked like an arrogant movie villain he might have seen in a silent film of the twenties.


The door opened behind him.   The Champion of Jattanooga craned his neck to witness a younger man than in the portrait behind the desk.  The man is fit and wearing white and lavender plaid pants with a pink Polo shirt.  His hair is bleach blonde, slicked back, and sporting a Van Dyke so perfect one might call it a Dick or a Jerry.  He did not walk as much as he swaggered into the room.  He smiled broadly flashing his bleached white teeth.  He extended his hand.   Considering his confidence, when he extended his hand, his wrist fell limp as if he were expecting the Ruler of Jattlantis to kiss his ruby red pinky ring.  Instead, Jatt Starr rose from his chair, took the man’s pinky between his thumb and index finger and gave it a little shake as the man began, speaking in a Southern accent, perfectly normal in this office outside Jackson, Mississippi.  


MAN:  My apologies, Mister Starr.  Got held up at the club.  I hope you hadn’t been waitin’ very long.

JATT STARR:  Not at all.  Only ten, fifteen minutes?  Mister…uh….Devastator?

MAN:  Despereaux.  Alexandre Despereaux.

JATT STARR:  Yes.  De-Ross-Perot.

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Close enough!  Sit!  Sit, sit, sit!


Alexandre Despereaux took a seat behind his desk as the Baron of Boca Jatton returned to his plush seat.  Despereaux flashed another 


ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Well, here you are.

JATT STARR:  Here I am!

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  It is my understandin’ that you to join our congregation.

JATT STARR:  Sorry, but, I was sort of expecting you to be that guy?  It’s just off-putting to expect that and I get you.


The Duke of Jattmandu pointed to the painting behind Mister Despereaux.  Without turning around, he addressed Jatt Starr’s query.


ALEXANDRE DESPERAUX: You’re about two decades too late to meet that gentleman.  That there’s my granddaddy, Henry Despereaux.  He founded this here sect.  But I assure, I am as capable as he is.  We have seen an increase of over three percent over the past two years since I took the helm.  

JATT STARR: Three percent?  Wow.  I am flummoxed.

ALEXANDRE DESPERAUX: Don’t sass me in my own office, son.  It’s impolite. Trust me, three percent here in Miss’ssippi, that’s fuckin’ impressive.  This ain’t some fuckin’ little podunk church in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.  Anyone can seek acceptance here but only those that are admitted can join.  Now, what bi’ness you in, Mister Starr?

JATT STARR: Are you serious?

ALEXANDRE DESPERAUX: Like an Old Miss – Arkansas game 

JATT STARR: That reference is lost on me.


JATT STARR:  You’ve never heard of me?  Jatt Starr.  The Ruler of Jattlantis.  The Grand Overlord of Jatturn.  The Sultan of SeaJattle?

ALEXANDRE DESPERAUX:  Now I’m the one that’s lost, here.

JATT STARR:  I’m a wrestler.  The PWA Co-World Champion.  The HOTv Co-World Champion.  Soon to be HOTv Singular Champion.


The Jattinum Standard could feel himself getting hot.   The fact that this guy had no idea who he was after twenty-some-odd years in the business was downright offensive.  Jatt Starr wanted to climb over the table and slap some sense into that smiling tool’s skull, but chose the best course of action was to give the impression of calmness.  Besides, he would never get what he wanted if he smacked the guy around like a loan shark looking to get paid.


ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  We don’t usually let no public figures join our little community, see.  

JATT STARR:  I can understand that.  But I am no politician or actor or anything like that.  I am just a highly successful, ridiculously good looking, moderately famous in the grand scheme of things, wrestler.  I am just looking for some guidance especially when it comes to my future and your church fits the bill.

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  You did come all this way, might as well hear you out, but, uh, we don’t like to think of this here as a church, no sir.  This is a community.  

JATT STARR:  Absolutely.  I am sorry.  Now, before I lock into anything, how does this work?

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  I’m gonna ask you some questions ‘bout yourself, see if you exemplify our eight tenets.

JATT STARR:  I don’t want to live here and I’m really not interested in meeting the people that do.

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Tenets, like a creed or-or a doctrine, if you will.

JATT STARR:  Right, yeah, but after that.  How does it work?  Do you just need like a photograph or do you need like an article of clothing or something?

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  I’m not followin’ here.  

JATT STARR:  For the ritual?  

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  What is it that you think that we do here, son?

JATT STARR:  The blood ritual.  I give you a photograph or maybe a lock of Shane Reynolds’s hair and you sacrifice a goat or a child and then he has a heart attack and collapses in the middle of the ring at “Chaos”, I pin him, one-two-three, I am the new HOTv Champion.  

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  I don’t think you quite—-

JATT STARR:  Now, the child sacrifice thing, I want it on the record that I do not condone it.  Unless the kid is an absolute dick.  Trust me, if you ever met Sutler Reynolds-Kael, you would understand.  In fact, there’s this kid, must be thirteen now, flipped me the bird once when I getting my—-

ALEXANDRE DESPERAUX:  Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?!

JATT STARR:  You are Satanists, right?  Isn’t that what you do?


The Starrabian Knight somehow offended Alexandre Despereaux although he did not know how. It was to be a simple transaction: Jatt Starr joins the Satanic cult and they perform some kind of sick, grotesque, twisted ceremony that resulted in the Rembrandt of Wrestling being crowned the new HOTv Champion.  Sure, he could have stuck around Uruguay, found some shaman and presented Gary Cooper as a sacrifice.  But considering Gary Cooper was a damn fine alpaca that kicked some major ass after taking out those two EPU agents, that was not about to happen.  And highly trainable.  But he could not count on Gary Cooper learning to bite Shane Reynolds’s penis off within a few days.


Alexandre Despereaux almost leapt from his chair, admonished Jatt silently with his finger before he began to head towards the bar.  He poured himself a drink from a decanter.  Sherry or cognac, perhaps.  He turned towards the Perfect Ten.


ALEXANDRE DESPERAUX:  Some fuckin’ fringe group slaughters a couple’a babies and now all Satanists are fuckin’ monsters.  Look here, we are the Parish of Satan’s Light.  We ain’t no baby murderin’ psychopaths!  He ain’t goin’ around huntin’ virgins for sacrifice!  What you’re doin’ here is fuckin’ ignorant and you are lucky I don’t stomp your fuckin’ ass!

JATT STARR:  Look!  I’m sorry!  

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Comin’ in here actin’ like we’re some voodoo fuckin’ cult!  

JATT STARR:   I didn’t say voodoo.  I was thinking more like devil worhipping and—

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  The Devil?   That shit’s as real as Barney fuckin’ Fife.

JATT STARR:  Don Knotts was the devil?

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX;  There ain’t no devil, son!  Shit’s as made up as fuckin’ Zeus and-and-and fuckin’ Superman.  


Alexandre Desperaux was silent for a moment before storming back into his chair.  The Sultan of SeaJattle considered everything that was said and yet….


JATT STARR:  So there are no rituals here that would guarantee me victory over Shane Reynolds.  Is that what you are telling me?

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  That would be correct.

JATT STARR:  Can you recommend a Satanic cult that might, you know…..

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Hell no!  We’re a nontheist religion, we ain’t fuckin’ Google, here!  We don’t believe in that shit nor do we tolerate it.

JATT STARR:  What kind of Satanists are you?!

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Maybe I’ll open your fuckin’ eyes!


Alexandre opened a drawer in his desk and retrieved a book.  He slid it across the desk and the Savior of Starrkham picked it.  He examined the cover – “Do Unto Others After You Do Unto Yourself” by Alphonse Despereaux – and looked at the Satanist in Charge.


ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  My daddy wrote it in 1999 before that whole Y2K nonsense.  Didn’t hit no bestseller lists but it explains what we’re about.  We don’t believe in Satan or some cloven footed devil runnin’ around with a pitchfork.  We believe in liberatin’ ourselves from them there traditional beliefs and superstitions.  We look at Satan as an idea, a bringer of light fightin’ against oppression and arbitrary authoritarianism.  Ain’t no wars been fought in the name of Satan.  We believe in takin’ care of ourselves first, see.  We look at ourselves first.  We believe in nonconformity, self-ownership, and self-determination.  Ain’t nowhere in the book is there anything about sacrificin’ no virgins or shit.  We’re pacifists here, son.

JATT STARR:  Yeah, I was really hoping you would help me with Shane Reynolds.  I don’t think so.  I mean, Satanic pacifism?  Seriously?  What?  Am I supposed to walk up to that perpetually inferior fopdoodle and say “Excuse me, Mister Shane Reynolds, sir.  Would you terribly mind laying down so that I pin you thusly removing the burden of the HOTv Championship from your good graces?  Much obliged, old chap.”.  Clearly, this is not what the Jattlantic City Idol is looking for 

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  That’s fine.  We were gonna deny your entry anyway.

JATT STARR:  But, I already said no, so….

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Because you knew you weren’t gonna get approved.

JATT STARR:  If I wanted to get in, I’d be in.

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Except you’ve been denied.

JATT STARR:  Yeah, I rejected you so you’re just saying that so you can sleep better at night.

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Fuck you.  No, I’m not. 



Jatt Starr stood up from the chair and grabbed the book on the desk.


ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  What’re you doin’?

JATT STARR:  Leaving.

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Not with my daddy’s book you ain’t.


The Church leader lunged catlike across the desk and placed the book in a death grip and attempted to yank it away from the Jatti Master but Mister Devereaux underestimated the power of Jatt Starr’s Kung Fu grip and thus a game of tug of war ensued.


JATT STARR: You gave it to me!

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX: When I thought you could be enlightened but it’s clear that you’re just a close minded, judgmental heathen!

JATT STARR: What’s mine is mine!

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX: It ain’t yours!  Now give it here or else!

JATT STARR: You can’t do bollocks to me, Mister Pacifist Penis Face! You keep me waiting?!  I will kick the—-




Like a coward, Alexandre Desperaux sucker punched the Starrson City Icon in the face. Stunned, Jatt Starr staggers backward in the most manly of fashion.  The Thane of Starrkarth brought his hand to his cheek and discovered blood trickling down.  The bleach blonde bastard used his pinky ring as a weapon!  


ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX: Just cuz I’m a pacifist don’t mean I won’t whoop your fuckin’ ass!  Tenet six, bitch!


Both men took fighting stances as they held onto the book.  Jatt Starr, he didn’t care about this whole Satanic misunderstanding any more, it was the principle of the matter.


JATT STARR: I am going to beat the hell out of you.

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX: The only thing you’ll be beatin’ is my dick, son!

JATT STARR: That is sexual harassment, sir.  You just sexual harrassmented me!

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX: Hold up, now! That weren’t no sexual harassment!

JATT STARR:  Sounded like you want to force me to masturbate you, you pervy freak!

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  That’s slander right there and I shall thrash you accordingly.

JATT STARR: Oh yeah?  Let go of the book and start thrashing!

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX: I ain’t lettin’ go.  You let—-




Indeed, Jatt Starr gave a backhanded slap (aka the pimp slap) across the face to Alexandre Despereaux.  The Ruler of Jattlantis nodded with satisfaction as Alexandre stood there blinking in silence. 


JATT STARR:  Smack Sparrow, zit pus!


Despereaux took a swipe at Jatt Starr with his free hand but the Scourge of Starrpathia evaded contact like Neo evading bullets in “The Matrix”.  Deveraux made his way from around the desk and distracted Jatt Starr with meaningless swipes.   In position, Despereaux kicked Jatt Starr in the shin, who responded by yelping in pain.  Despereaux opened his mouth to gloat but all that came out was pained wail as Jatt Starr stomped on his foot in retaliation.  Both men started to flail their legs at each other as if they were doing a violent jive whilst incoherently yelling at each other.   Some kicks painlessly landed while others completely missed the mark.  Finally, as if in unison, both men changed tactics.  Jatt Starr connected with a punch to Despereaux’s throat while Despereaux landed an uppercut to the Earl of GlouStarr’s lone testicle.  Both men, still clutching the book, each drop to a knee, groaning in pain.  


Just as Jatt Starr was about to snatch the book from Despereaux’s waning grasp, the church grabbed the King of Jatten Island’s ear and started pulling on it.  In response, Jatt Starr grabbed a fistful of Despereaux’s bleached locks and ripped some hair out…by some, it was all.  Despereaux was sporting a toupee to cover his evaporating hairline.


ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  My artificial hair replacement system!


The Jattinum Standard let out a wince and he threw it across the room.  For the briefest of moments, Jatt Starr caught a glimpse of the juxtaposition of the pale, white skin atop his head as compared to the suntanned complexion of his face.  If he were not in an eternal struggle for a book he did not really give a rat’s rectum about, he might have laughed.  As Despereaux began to clench his fist, his face contorted into a red mask of rage, the door swung open.  The ruckus was about to be broken up by a woman’s voice.


WOMAN:  What in the hell is going on here?


Both men turned to see a woman sporting a square neck ruffle dress and large strawberry blonde hair styled in such away that Jatt would have assumed she had a married a shoe salesman who once scored four touchdowns in a single game at Polk High School.  She strode in with confidence as Alexandre Despereaux.



JOLENE:  What the fuck are you doin’ in daddy’s office, Alex?

ALEXANDRE DESPEREAUX:  Admissions, Jo-Jo. This here fella was interested in joinin’ and, uh, I was just interviewin’ him.

JOLENE:  You’re not in admissions, shit-for-brains.  You got one job.  One fuckin’ job and that is sucking up to the Councilman and that cum dumpster of a daughter of his.  We need the license to celebrate Unveiling Day.  


As Alexandre Despereaux slowly rose from the ground, he removed his hand from the book, which the HOW Hall of Famer quickly seized and brought to his chest.  Alexandre retrieved his hairpiece and awkwardly placed it upon his head.  Without saying a word, Alexandre meekly exited the room as Jolene approached the desk,  Instead of sitting behind the desk, she leaned on the front of it.   


JOLENE: And I suppose that’s your llama shitting on our property?

JATT STARR:  He’s an alpaca.  His name is Gary Cooper and yes, he had some brussel sprouts with brunch.  

JOLENE:  Do you know what’s more valuable to me than diamonds?

JATT STARR:  A good man?  No, no!  A diamond car with gold hubcaps!

JOLENE:  My time.  If you’re serious about joining us, we’re holding a fundraiser for “The Children of Satan’s Light”.  And no, before you ask, it is not a cult.  The children are not circus freaks born with abnormalities.  The children are not in any way associated with the Anti-Christ.  They are not vampires, zombies, or cannibals and do not feed on human flesh.  And no, they are not the result of man and beast sexual relations.  It is a charity where we raise money for the children, regular human children, of our community.    It will be held at Titus Andromedon State Park.  If you don’t know it, Google it.  Now, get the hell out of my daddy’s office and if you want to make an appointment, call me.


Jolene turned around, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Jatt Starr.  The card read “POSL Enterprises”.



JOLENE:  We find if you put the word “Satan” on a business card, people tend not to call.  

JATT STARR:  I guess this….


The Ruler of Jattlantis offered the book to Jolene who looked at it and cocked a half-smile.  She looked at Jatt Starr, almost mischievously as she tapped on the cover with her perfectly manicured nails.


JOLENE:  It’s my brother’s copy.  Keep it.  Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.

JATT STARR:   You sure?

JOLENE:  As long as you get that llama off our property.

JATT STARR:  It’s alpaca that I am training to bite the penis and nose off of Shane Reynolds.

JOLENE:  I don’t care if you’re training it to do the Triple Lindy at the Paris Olympics get it away from here.


Jatt Starr, his fingers in a gun position, pointed at Jolene before walking out.  There was no use in engaging her any further as proceeded to walk out of the office, down the hall, and out the door.  The humidity hit the Baron of Boca Jatton like a sopping wet sledgehammer.  He could almost feel his lungs collapse as he headed down the steps towards the parking lot.  The foul stench of alpaca dung baking in the sun was getting more and more pronounced as he approached Gary Cooper.    As he walked over to his alpaca friend he noticed a piece of paper attached to the rope around his neck.  The Duke of Jattmandu read the piece of paper and crumpled it in his hands out of frustration.


JATT STARR:  A PARKING TICKET?!  ARE YOU SERIOUS?!  Gary Cooper!  How did you let this happen?  No carrots for you.


Gary Cooper hummed a response.


JATT STARR:  It stinks over here.  Might have to call you Gary Pooper.   Do you think you could poop on command?  Like, if I position you over a fallen Shane Reynolds, you think you can drop a deuce on his stupid face?


Gary Cooper hummed again as Jatt Starr picked up the rope and started leading him out of the parking lot.


JATT STARR:  What’s your opinion on Satanism?


Another hum from Gary Cooper.


JATT STARR:  I should run it by Dan but he’s the celebrity judge at an Okra Pie Tasting Contest in Ardmore, Okrahoma.  


Gary Cooper unleashed a brief but ear splitting scream.


JATT STARR:  I thought it was funny.


Jatt Starr continued out of the parking lot.  Unbeknownst to him, several years ago, ninety-seven miles away in a desolate part of Mississippi, a meteorite had fallen from the sky.  Emerging from the crater was an eight foot creature who studied human behaviors whilst staying hidden from monster hunters like Clay Byrd, they laid in wait as they used their superior technology to develop passports, driver licenses, and knock off handbags which were sold on the streets of Detroit for thirty bucks a pop.  But Jatt didn’t care because….well….he had no idea.  All he cared about was becoming HOTv Champion.