Posted on September 28, 2022 at 6:46 pm by Jatt Starr

:::SCENE:  Backstage in the Rocket Field Mortgage Arena in Cleveland, Ohio, Simon Sparrow paces back and forth in his dressing room.   Annoyance and anger boiled over in the cauldron of emotions that the HOW Hall of Famer is currently working through.  The plan was simple, Bobbinette Carey would manhandle Christopher America whilst the Rembrandt of Wrestling would kick Sektor’s ass so far into the future, he would need a flux capacitor to find his way back.   He mumbles to himself as he crosses the floor, incoherently placing a curse on the Queen of Epicness and her family….and her family’s family…..and her family’s family’s family.   Deep down Simon Sparrow knows that if the telekinetic ability to make people’s heads explode does not exist, neither do curses.


The HOW Hall of Famer continues pacing in his black and red checked pants and a black “Return of the Living Dead” t-shirt.  The door swings open and his agent, Sal, scurries in, a smarmy grin across his smarmy, sleazoid face, his usually soulless eyes (the kind you find from a stripper working the lunch shift at truck stop tittie bar) have a hint of life behind them.   Sal looks like he a pimple about to pop an eruption of exuberant pus.:::::


SAL:  You’ll never guess what—-


SIMON SPARROW:  Disrespectful, Sal.  That’s what it is.


SAL:  Totally agree but you need—-


SIMON SPARROW:  Female empowerment my ass!   You know what I think?   I think Bobbinette Carey is threatened by me!  She knows that I am the most dominant female wrestler in the history of the HOW!  The second she found out I was “Female” her overinflated ego took over.  As if wrestling in Cleveland wasn’t humiliating enough, she snaked the victory right out of my grasp!   I could just-just claw her eyes out!!!


SAL:  And she would totally deserve it, but listen, listen, listen….Sally, your pally, your agent extraordinaire, just got off the phone from the executive fucks upstairs and—-


SIMON SPARROW:  Tonight changes everything.  My huge announcement next week?  We’re going to have to cancel it!  


SAL:  OOOOOOOOOORRRRRRR…..we don’t cancel it!


SIMON SPARROW:  What?!  No!  Forget it!   It’s not happening!  I have changed my mind!


SAL:  Don’t get your panties in a twist.  I have—-


SIMON SPARROW:  Really, Sal?  REALLY?  You’re gonna go there?


SAL:  Sorry!  But, hear me out!


SIMON SPARROW:  There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.  I am going through a number of emotions right now.  I should have been the one to pin Sektor!   They don’t deserve it!   It should have been—-


SAL:  Simon!  Simon!  Simon!  You’re getting cold feet, I get it!  But….check it out!  Check it out!  Next week!  




SAL:  You, the Renoir of Wrestling, have a—-


SIMON SPARROW:  Rembrandt!   Rembrandt of Wrestling!


SAL:  Hey!  I’m an agent, not one of them artsy fartsy with the scarves and the berets and those pretentious douchbags staring at a fucking plain round circle and comment on how it represents the nothingness of being!


SIMON SPARROW:  As my agent, you should know my nickname.  


SAL:  That don’t mean shit because next week, you got a match!


::::The word hit the HOW Hall of Famer like a wrecking ball to the gut.  Shades of his pre-”Dead or Alive” run.  Getting booked week after week to the point where he was verging on completely burning out.:::::


SIMON SPARROW:  What?  I was hoping for next week off from in-ring competition!


SAL:  But-but-but—-


SIMON SPARROW:  No buts!   This is just the man trying to put a strong female wrestler such as myself down!   


SAL:  Which is why you need to them listening ears on because I got big fucking news.  Huge!   This is bigger than “Ace Ventura Two: When Nature Calls”!   This is some next level shit.  


SIMON SPARROW:  And will you be sharing this with me anytime soon?


SAL:  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  First thing though.  How’s Heidi with this new arrangement?


SIMON SPARROW:  She’s growing accustomed to the newfound rejuvenation of her career now that she’s a lesbian.  She’s got that audition with Murphy Ryan for that werewolf thing this week.  


SAL:  And just imagine how she’ll feel when she’s associated with the NEW HOW Champion!


::::As if Simon Sparrow wasn’t feeling irked before, but now Sal has dropped this bombshell on the Rembrandt of Wrestling.   The Professor of Sparrowdynamics stares at Sal for a moment trying to process the news that he has just delivered.::::


SIMON SPARROW:  Is she leaving me for Christopher America?  Is Christopher America a lesbian???


SAL:  No.  Simon, bubala, you.  Next week….you versus Christopher America for the HOW World Championship! 


SIMON SPARROW:  A Championship match.


SAL:  The big time, Simon baby!


SIMON SPARROW:  Don’t call me “baby”.


SAL:  I overstepped, I get it.  Think of it!  Think of the global attention!   Hollywood!  Broadway!  Those fucking dipshit Gen Z’ers who need to rally for some cause!  You’re gonna get publicized all over the world….except the ones where things like this won’t fly.  Unless you do, and then bing-bang-boom….you’re not just some hasbeen wrestler!


::::Simon gets this feeling in the pit of the stomach.  What is it?  Guilt? Shame?   What happened to the cockiness and indignation the HOW Hall of Famer was feeling just moments ago?   Sal knows what buttons to push but he can be very sleazy when he does it, which causes quite the conflict for the Good Sparrow.:::::


SIMON SPARROW:  I get this feeling that maybe you are using this situation to exploit me.


::::Upon hearing Simon Sparrow’s legitimate concerns, Sal looks like his client has just inferred that this dear old mother might prefer military footwear.   Sal places his hand across his chest as if he were having a heart attack (but more likely, to show off his bejeweled pinky ring) as his client stares at him with as earnest and worried glare.:::: 


SAL:  Exploit?  EXPLOIT?!  YOU?!  Where do you get the balls to accuse me of exploiting you?!  Fuck no, I’m not exploiting you!   When amputated G.I.’s from World War Two came home from action, did they get exploited?!  Fuck no!  They had parades for them, showing every single American man, woman, and child what fucking heroes they were fighting the Nazis!   You, Simon, are a hero!  


SIMON SPARROW:  I feel like that’s an unfair comparison.


SAL:  If I was gonna exploit you, I’d tell you to take the lead role in “She-Man and Masterbaters of the Universe”!  But I have too much respect for you to do that!   Every single person we put you in front of, they’re gonna turn to their friends and say “Simon Sparrow, so courageous!  So brave!”  And Heidi?  What about her?  She’s on her way to the Golden Globes and the Emmys!   Demographics don’t lie!  Ratings don’t lie!   Gender identity ain’t a freak show anymore, it’s trendy, it’s hip, it’s NOW.  


SIMON SPARROW:  See, when you say things like that, it really—-


SAL:  Okay!  Okay!   Okay!   Look, they exploiting we’re doing is against the U.S. government and their colossal fuck up by putting that “F” on every single piece of government issued identification you were given for the last two decades.   And let’s be fucking honest here, don’t you cry during romantic movies?


SIMON SPARROW:  Not all of them!


SAL:  And, you are vastly opposed to this, whaddya call it, masuline toxicity, right?


SIMON SPARROW:  Yeah, but isn’t this potentially as offensive as—-


SAL:  And, if I may be so bold to inquire, did you not receive just one day ago from today, five fan letters in the mail expressing their fandom to your femdommedness?


SIMON SPARROW:  That’s not a word and if it was, I don’t think it means what you think you think it means.


SAL:  Answer the question!


SIMON SPARROW:  Yes, I got some fan letters.


SAL:  That’s five fan letters in the mail!   In this day and age, that equates to fifty thousand!  If you had a Twitter account, people would listen!   We are close….so very close….




SAL:   Who discovered the error?  Who’s got your back right now?  We’re in this together, you and me!   All you gotta do is own it!  


SIMON SPARROW:  Yeah, and I hear what you’re saying, and maybe the possibility of becoming the HOW Champion again is clouding my judgment here but—-


SAL:  Think of the future!   You won’t have the Lee Best machine behind you.  This new Renaissance that is transpiring before us, he wouldn’t be able to take credit for this.  This is you.  All you!   Just think of the look on that old fuck’s face when he finds out.  


::::Simon begins nodding as Sal lays a barrage of information at the Rembrandt of Wrestling’s feet.  Simon tries to form a rebuttal, but alas, cannot.  Sal continues.::::


SAL:  All you gotta do is one little thing.  One eeny-meeney-teeny-tiny thing.   All you gotta do is—-


SIMON SPARROW:  Beat Christopher America.


SAL:  …and become the HOW Champion.  With that belt around your waist, the sky’s the limit.  We’re talkin’ talk shows!   Judging cooking competitions!   Baking competitions!   Drag competitions, the men dressing like women kind, not the racing car kind!   You’ll be back on top of the pop culture gamut!   Don’t fucking doubt yourself now.   You gotta do it!   You know it and I know it!   It’s right there in my briefcase.


::::The Professor of Sparrowdynamics looks down at the briefcase in Sal’s hand.   Sal brings it up to his chest and holds it out to his client.   The briefcase taunts the HOW Hall of Famer to open it.  Simon’s heart begins racing a little faster.  Since finding out the news that “he” was a “she” in the eyes of the government, Simon was annoyed at first, but Sal has made a lot of sense, and awakened something deep inside.::::




SAL:  Fuck Sektor.  How many lives has he ruined?  Christopher America?  Overrated douchebag.  Three time War Games winner?  Who the fuck cares?   Hall of Famer?  Fucking Bobbinette Carey and Scott Stevens are Hall of Famers and I hear they are hypocrites that suck shit.   It’s gotta be now.


SIMON SPARROW:   There’s no going back once I open it, is there?


SAL:  Nope.  There’s no turning back.  Once you own it, you own it all.  Warts and everything.


SIMON SPARROW:  It’s not going to give me warts, is it?


SAL:  It’s a proverb.


SIMON SPARROW:  You know I’m not completely comfortable with this.  


SAL:  You’re stalling.


SIMON SPARROW:  No I’m not.  You’re the one that’s stalling!


SAL:  We can call it off but you might as well flush your future potential down the shitter.


SIMON SPARROW:  Here we go…..


::::Simon Sparrow takes several deep breaths before unlatching the briefcase in Sal’s arms.   The HOW Hall of Famer opens the briefcase and when he sees the contents, Simon’s face drops, an almost melancholic look etched on it.::::


SIMON SPARROW:  Fuck!  FUCK!  Fucking shitty shit fuck!


SAL:  What?


SIMON SPARROW:  Getting it out of my system, you fuck!  


::::Sal is taken aback at the insult but Simon holds up his hand comfortingly and apologetically.::::


SIMON SPARROW:  No offense.


SAL:  Eh.


::::Simon Sparrow reaches into the briefcase, hands trembling ever so slightly, and pulls out it’s contents.  The feel of the item in the HOW Hall of Famer’s hands feels soft and familiar.   


A black baseball jersey…..


The words in pink lettering…..




Simon Sparrow pulls the baseball jersey out of the briefcase revealing the words “FIRST FEMALE HOW CHAMPION” on the back……..








Chrissy, old sport!   What’s the greater accomplishment?   Winning War Games?  Winning War Games twice?   Winning War Games a third time?  Getting inducted in the HOW Hall of Fame?   


Nah.  Those all sound great and all but you accomplished something that Lee Best, Sektor, Tyler Best, Bobbinette Carey….


Whoops!  I’m trying to make this sound amazing.  Scratch ol’ Bobbinette Hairy off that list.  


Anyhoo, you did something they couldn’t do.   Bring Jatt Starr out of retirement!


The Ruler of Jattlantis!   The Duke of Jattmandu!  The Thane of Starrkarth!


Whoa there, sport!  You are liable to dislocate your shoulder patting yourself on the back like that!   I don’t blame you.  It gives you more bragging rights.   I mean, you are about to lose the HOW Championship, but this is a nice consolation prize.   Better than a year’s supply of turtle wax but not as flashy as a Vespa.


America, old bean, the Hero of Jattlanta has got to give you credit.  Faking an injury, classic!   Anything that screws Sektor harder than a scrawny data entry analyst that dropped his soap in a prison shower is A-Okay by the Jattlantic City Idol!   




The Marquis of MadagaStarr does take exception to the fact that you allowed an inferior talent, namely that scumbucket Bobbinette Carey, to gain the victory.   Granted, it’s more humiliating for Sektor that way and I should be taking that with a kind of childlike glee, but I’m not.   It’s unacceptable to the Baron of Boca Jatton.


But, the Champion of Jattanooga can be an adult about this.  


The Icon of Starrcelona isn’t going to throw some Tyler Best-ian temper tantrum.


No, instead, I am going to give the devil his due.  You are the favorite, Chris, old bean.  There is no way the Starrabian Knight can beat you…..




America is perfect.   


America never makes mistakes, right?


America is infallible.   


America never loses.


At worst, America only ties.


When the going gets tough, America always pulls through.


What a load of hogwash!


America, the U.S. of A, Christopher…’s all the same.


You think you’re amazing, nothing else exists.  


But think of this, Sir Elton John is the greatest British singer-songwriter EVER.  And he was legit knighted by the Queen.   Elvis Presley died, bloated, fat and sitting on the toilet.  Was he doing drugs or trying to take a massive dumpand blew gasket?  Who knows?  


Oh yeah, we Americans talk a big game, we can win championships, but when it comes down to it, America kinda sucks.   They completed “effed” my drivers licenses, not that I can’t make that work.  It opens so many doors!   If Heidi and I part ways, I wouldn’t just be eligible for the straight hotties, but the lipstick lesbians as well.  Hey, isn’t making chicken soup out of chicken poop just so flippin’ American?


So, while it might be labeled as Communist for such blasphemy, is it any worse than a cow sucking off Chris CK in front of thousands?  


The way the Mayor of ManJattan sees it, there’s nothing to lose.  I still get Sucktor at “Rumble at the Rock”.   At the end of the day, a loss for the Earl of GlouStarr means absolutely nothing.  


Which ultimately means you will do the most American thing you can do….get cocky and overconfident, let your guard down, and I launch a SCUD missile right up your stupid, floppy ass!


In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m basically telling you that at “Chaos”, you’re so fucked, you’ll wish you blew a gasket taking a shit.