A piece of shit by any other name… is still Jatt Starr.
Yes Jatt, you can call yourself whatever the fuck you want these days, I really could care less because you are the same old Jatt with the same old tired routine of child like jokes. Yeah, you’re just as old as me… I think, HOWrestling.com conveniently doesn’t have that information on you. Scared of being called a hypocrite? No… that’s never been the case. Afraid of Father Time though? Now we’re getting closer. The bleach blonde hair, hiding the grays that have almost certainly started coming in… and hair plugs? Oh I’m sure you got a few in there too… or is that just a creative comb over? Either way I’m sure you’re hiding those bald spots that are creeping in rather than being a man and embracing it. I got some good razors you can try out Jatt.
You even adopted some crazy ass wannabe cereal cartoon character to make you seem youthful, hip and cool. But Wabid Wabbit? Speech problems are no joke Jatt, you insensitive piece of shit… but that’s who you are right? Saying all these edgy… but still just fucking childish things. Like me “doodling” Carey? Be a man and using the Fucking F-word and then we’ll talk about your jealously of me being able to have a friendship with a woman that doesn’t revolve around sex.
Yes, I was pissed you beat Carey last week and punched your ticket to War Games… but you know what pisses me off even more? How you want to now take this match as a fucking joke.
“Wins matter… but significant wins matter more.”
That’s about what you said, right? Fuck Jatt… I thought you of all people, one of the original HOW Hall of Famers would have more respect for HOW than that. I thought you would take every match here as if it was the biggest match ever. That every win in HOW is big because we have the toughest, most talented roster in all of wrestling. Every win here is significant… but apparently not for the great fucking Jatt Starr… he is above certain matches… yet here you are still, showing up… barely… for this match with me. Why then? Guess even the great Jatt Starr still needs the paycheck? Guess it’s not so insignificant then, is it?
“Oh, but my match with Carey was phoned in.”
Or in whatever bitch ass whinny way you said it.
I made my friend bleed in that match… and not in the childish fucking way your mind is thinking. Yes, I didn’t take her eye, but we still put on one hell of a fucking match. Why? Because that is what HOW deserves. Every single night. It deserves some fucking passion, like being pissed off your friend lost… then beating the shit out Jatt Starr. Then not trying to run away from a fight the week after like your sorry ass is.
But if this match means so little to you Jatt, why don’t we up the stakes? If I am so much of a fucking has been… if you don’t fear me… then why don’t you put that ticket you punched to War Games on the line? Why don’t you for once act like a fucking man… and not some overgrown child… and show some fucking balls.
Who the fuck am I kidding though… he’d never do that.
You have nothing to gain in this match… and neither do I at its current state. But the difference Jatt, the difference is that while you are happy phoning it the fuck in, I’m still willing, whether you accept my raising of the stakes or fold like the cheap fucking chair you are. I am going to come with everything I got to this match. Just like I always fucking do… because while everyone thinks you are the heart of HOW… and maybe long ago you were… the reality is I took over that mantle a long time ago.
Though maybe I have been dropping the ball on that a bit lately…
Maybe because HOW just doesn’t feel the same to me anymore.
I mean Jatt is not wrong when he says I am old… I know my days in that ring are closer to the end than the start. So maybe it’s just I don’t fit in as well with the new guys as I did with the old guard. Or maybe I’m just in the wrong fucking clique. Yeah, fuck off, I can literally hear the echo of your eyes rolling in your empty fucking heads.
But just because I may soon be done in the ring… doesn’t mean I am done.
Scheming… always scheming.
But anyhow… please Jatt, show up to our match with this half assed attitude. Because I’d love to lay your ass out again, just like I did last week. And thanks for the scouting report, so I know exactly where to target my attacks. Because if you happen to get hurt at Refueled… that means there is an open spot in War Games.
Or like I said, you man up and make this match matter… you put your spot in War Games on the line… and I put… my career on the line. Be the one that finally rids HOW of Scottywood. You’d be a fucking hero amongst the boys… finally get some of that glory you haven’t seen in the past what? Decade?
But like I said… you’ll never accept… you just wanna coast into War Games. Fucking coward. No wonder you don’t wanna be called Jatt Starr anymore, you’d rather no one associate the bitch that Simon Sparrow is with a man who actually had some balls here in HOW.
Charlotte, North Carolina
May The Fourth
The door to the hotel in Charlotte opens and all we see is this green glow followed by the following sounds.
Yeah, take a wild guess, it is Frankie the Cameraman wielding his green lightsaber as he kicks the door open and scans around for any enemies. He finds a couple imaginary ones and strikes them down with a couple swings of his lightsaber.
“It’s all clear Master Scotty!” Yells Frankie out to the hallways as we see Scotty walking into the room, towing his luggage behind him and with his phone in the other hand on speaker.
“Yeah, I just landed in Charlotte with Frankie, everything seems cool with the EAW facility, so that was at least that part of the trip was worth it.”
“Cool Scooter… what do you mean that part was worth it? What else did you go to New York City for?” Asks Carey, as who else ya think The Hardcore Artist is talking too.
“Does it have anything to do with…” She starts to ask a second question before Scotty can even answer the first.
“Yes… but I’m on speaker and Frankie has a camera rolling cause he wanted to film a Star Wars entrance to the hotel room for some social media thing today.” Says Scotty as he shakes his head even though he obliged after what he may be soon putting him through.
“May The Fourth Scooter!” Let him have his fun, you know how much Star Wars means to him.” She strongly suggests as she knows Scotty is shaking his head on the other side.
“So you met him?” Asks Carey as you can hear the excitement in her voice spike.
“I thought if this was gonna happen no matter how hard I tried to stop it… that I might as well try to at least control it. Plus I watched the tape from a week prior and it was a shit show. I had to offer him some help. I couldn’t watch him go through that again. But it was all for nothing, he didn’t even get to fight this week. Lots of bullshit going on.” Explains Scotty as you can see a slight bit a sympathy start to crack through The Hardcore Artist’s exterior.
“Awwww, I love it! This is gonna be great Scooter!” Exclaims Carey to a less than enthused Scotty.
“Great? I really doubt that. This could all blow up in my fucking face in an instant… but if I can make it work… if I can smooth over what was a fucked up past… this could be…” Scotty tries to theorize… but before he is finished, Carey cuts him off.
“Epic!” Shouts Carey and Scotty snaps his head away from the speaker on the phone.
“I’m so buying you a thesaurus.” Jabs Scotty as he again shakes his head and digs into his luggage for a beer to crack open to calm the anxiety of this situation.
“It’s all gonna work out Scooter. You’re guy, us getting into War Games and you getting revenge on Jatt this week.” Chimes back Carey ignoring Scotty’s dig at her favorite word.
Scotty pulls a Anti-Hero IPA out of his bag that may or may not even be cold and cracks it open and quickly takes a long drink from the can.
“Are you chugging a beer already?” Asks Carey, already knowing the answer to her question.
“Yes mom, I am, is that a problem?” Snaps back Scotty before taking another drink, nearly finishing the twelve ounce can.
“Fine, none of my business, but be ready tomorrow, we’re meeting up for margaritas for Cinco de Mayo and discussing plans.” Reminds Carey as Scotty tilts his head to the side with a smirk on his face.
“When the fuck have I ever not been ready to drink?” Asks Scotty with a slight chuckle to change the tone of the conversation.
“Fair… ok, I’ll let ya go Scooter, we’ll chat tomorrow. Now go put some Star Wars and let Frankie build that a LEGO set or something.” Suggests Carey as Scotty throws his head back… knowing it is the right thing to do… even if he really doesn’t want to fucking do it.
I mean don’t get it wrong, he likes the Star Wars movies… but do you know how many times he has had to sit through them with Frankie? That alone will ruin any fucking movie… no matter how awesome it is.
“Fine, UberEats just better deliver beer to this shitty hotel. Gonna need it. Later Carey.” Sighs Scotty as he hangs up the phone and tosses it down onto the bed.
“How is Carey doing Scotty?” Ask Frankie as he comes over with his new R2D2 LEGO set and his eyes wide with excitement as he is hoping Scotty will let him build it now.
“She’s good, we’re gonna see her tomorrow for lunch.” Answers Scotty, obviously glazing over most of their conversation.
“Sweet! Since it is Cinco de Mayo, can I get Margarita Chicken Tenders?” Asks Frankie as he starts nodding his head up and down to try and convince Scotty to say yes.
“What the fuck is a Margarita Chicken Tender… sure… if they’ll make it for you, you can have whatever you want tomorrow.” Gives in Scotty, not even wanting to ask or know what kind of abomination that mixture of food is.
“Yes! And can we watch Phantom Menace now while I build R2?” Again asks Frankie as Scotty finishes the rest of his beer and reaches into his luggage for a second.
“Sure, just try not to recite every single line… and don’t pretend that the couch is a pod racer. You pretty much destroyed that one in the hotel last time you watched that movie.” Tries to instruct Scotty… but Frankie is already on his way to the TV before Scotty can even start the second sentence.
“Enjoy it now kid… shit is gonna get fucking real, real fast.” Says Scotty under his breath as he reaches for his phone and picks it back up off the bed.
He opens up his text messages and starts a new one to a contact just named, “THE KID”.
“I know shit went sideways this week… but get ready. In two weeks time, you’re making your debut when I go home… when HOW returns to Madison Square Garden.”
Scotty hits send as he quickly swipes out of the text app.
“Fuck… it’s done. Here we fucking go.” Shrugs Scotty as he taps on the UberEats app where he starts searching for the hoppiest and booziest IPA he can find to help him through another Star Wars day… may the beer be with him soon.