:::SCENE: It is after midnight in Saint Louis, Missouri. The rabid High Octane fans have spilled out of the Enterprise Center, high off of the stellar show they witnessed. Well, almost stellar. The surprising defeat of their hero and role model, Jatt Starr, will surely send more than a hundred of them home weeping, trying to drive through the tears in their eyes.
Inside the arena, the Ruler of Jattlantis sits in quiet contemplation in the StarrSek Industries locker room. The HOW Tag Team Championship lays next to him on the bench. His black StarrSek Industries duffel bag sits at his feet. The steel sphered walking cane known as Mister Whacky rests on top.
The Hero of Jattlanta’s face is as expressionless as a Vulcan. What emotions he is experiencing one cannot say. He lost the LSD Championship to Teddy Palmer. He lost to a grown ass man that still refers to himself as “Teddy”.
His LSD Championship reign ends at one hundred twelve days. Better than MJ Flair but not as good as Sean Maguire, whomever the hell that is. Eighth longest title reign since 2008. Impressive, but not enough to best Max Kael’s two hundred twenty-four day reign.
The door to the locker room opens and John Sektor swaggers in, brimming with confidence, the HOW Tag Team Championship around his waist. He looks over at the former LSD Champion and exhales, knowing he needs to say something but not wanting to get into a touchy feely conversation with an emotionally fragile Jatt Starr.::::
SEKTOR: You lost, amigo.
::::The King of Grapple from the Big Apple turns his head towards his tag team partner, his manner does not change. His motion is almost robotic as he turns his gaze towards his duffel bag.::::
SEKTOR: Jatt, hermano, you just gonna sit in here actin’ all mopey and twatty? Or are you gonna get your shit together, get pissed, and kick some ass next week?
JATT STARR: “Twatty”?
SEKTOR: Yeah. It means “cunty”.
::::The Marquis of MadagaStarr nods silently, acknowledging Sektor’s rather colorful knowledge of the English language. Sektor looks at his tag team partner expectantly, awaiting a response.::::
SEKTOR: What the fuck, Jatt? You got nothin’ to say? We got Teddy Palmer and Lindsay Troy next week and we’ve beaten Teddy Palmer before when he was teamed with Zeb Martin and we can —-
::::The Jattinum Standard looks over at the Gold Standard and holds up his hand to Sektor in a stopping motion. Sektor stops talking and jerks his head back, his face is a cornucopia of emotion from surprise, offended, curiosity, and anger.::::
JATT STARR: I have been sitting here trying to process how I feel losing my LSD Championship to Teddy Freaking Suckspin. And you know what?
::::The Sultan of SeaJattle lets out an audible exhale and looks up at the ceiling with the track lighting and fire sprinklers and the small discolored water stain before looking back at Sektor.::::
JATT STARR: I am fine. Would it have been better to lose it to you? Absolutely. But better to lose it to him than Bobby Dean or Darin Zion or Madame Novary herself, Lindsay Troy. Is that too offensive to women? “Novary”?
SEKTOR: I have no fucking clue what you’re even sayin’ there.
JATT STARR: Ah. Who cares? I’m talking about Lindsay Troy, the Lady Skankorage, not Dolly Parton.
SEKTOR: No one fucks with Dolly.
JATT STARR: You know that’s right.
::::The Jatti Master proceeds to stand up, wincing as he does so, still feeling the aches and soreness from his match earlier in the evening. The throbbing pain which is screaming from the lumbar and thoracic region of his back reminds him that he is no spring chicken.::::
JATT STARR: My point is, I am surprisingly indifferent about losing the title. To be perfectly honest with you, that thing was like an albacore around my neck. I was forced to hear how that festering pimple, Darin Zion wanted a title shot against the Earl of GlouStarr. That is as irritating a hemorrhoid on a roller coaster. Now, I don’t have to concern myself with that measle.
SEKTOR: Like he would’ve ever gotten a shot.
JATT STARR: He’s Teddy Poosevelt’s problem now. It will be nice not having to whip myself every Monday and Thursday. Besides, the LSD Title was taking time away from us. StarrSek Industries. HOW Tag Team Champions. Now, I can devote all of my attention and resources to you.
::::The realization that now, Jatt Starr, will be spending all of his time with him hits Sektor in the gut like a sledgehammer. There is a slight twinge of fear in his eyes. However, the Jattlantic City Idol has an almost childlike excitement at this prospect, it does not sit well for Sektor to express any concerns with his tag team partner on the same night he lost a championship. So, he fakes his enthusiasm as a ten year old would if his ninety year old grandmother gave him socks for Christmas.::::
SEKTOR: That’s really, uh, great.
JATT STARR: I know. And it starts next week with….what was that word you said before? Totty?
JATT STARR: That’s it. Twatty Palmer and the Union Strumpet. There is no way, I repeat, no flipping way in Hades, that we are losing these titles to those two. Especially HER.
SEKTOR: Why especially her? Those two motherfuckers are equal in the shithead category.
JATT STARR: Because she is deeply, madly, and obsessively in love with me.
SEKTOR: She’s what now?
JATT STARR: Come on! It’s the way she acts around me. She loves me so much it repulses her and she feels the need to attack me. In fact, I think it’s important that if you see her attempt to sexually assault me, in other words, tries to grab the goodies…
::::The Jattagonian Giant makes a circular motion with his hand in the general region of his crotch.::::
JATT STARR: ….you shut that down.
SEKTOR: I think you’ll be fine.
JATT STARR: I don’t know. When she’s so close to this….
::::The Starrcelona Icon then proceeds to make a circular motion over his entire body with his hand as Sektor looks on incredulously amused.:::::
JATT STARR: ….it will be hard to resist her unbridled passion for the Ruler of Jattlantis.
SEKTOR: I don’t think you should be worried, hermano.
JATT STARR: You say that now, but expect an “I told you so” when she starts trying to straddle me in the middle of the ring.
SEKTOR: If she does that, I’ll buy you a steak dinner at the best restaurant in Dallas.
JATT STARR: Is that where the next show is?
JATT STARR: Ohhhhaughhhhh!
:::::The former LSD Champion proceeds to wave and flail his arms and kick the air in anger and disgust.::::
JATT STARR: WHY?!?! DALLAS SUCKS!!!!
SEKTOR: You ain’t gettin’ an argument from me!
JATT STARR: It’s the sphincter of America!!!
SEKTOR: Fuckin’ A.
JATT STARR: It’s okay….
::::The Saviour of Starrkham closes his eyes and starts breathing slowly to calm himself down, he feels his heart beating a mile a minute…inhale…..exhale. Inhale…..Exhale. Inhale…..Exhale. When he finally feels calm enough to continue to he opens his eyes and turns to his gloriously moustached comrade.::::
JATT STARR: The cards are stacked against us which means they will underestimate us. They will fall into the trap of overconfidence that many of my previous opponents have. That will be our advantage! You don’t think Teddy Palmer is looking at the match and thinking “oh, them again, this will be a piece of cookie”.
SEKTOR: Don’t you mean “cake”?
JATT STARR: I don’t eat cake. Donuts, eclairs, napoleons, cannolis, cookies sure. But no cake. But that’s not the point. What I am saying is, Teddy Palmer beat me earlier this evening and he beat you, what was it, two weeks ago and he is carrying on like the cock of the walk. Have you considered how he was able to do that and act all calm and confident as if he hasn’t a care in the world?
SEKTOR: Haven’t given it much thought.
JATT STARR: He beat us. Granted, not in tag team competition, we hold an advantage there. But still, we’re Legends. Hall of Famers. We are the Standard of the HOW. How did he do it?
SEKTOR: No clue. He’s a fuckwit, so it’s not his talent.
JATT STARR: Exactly. Which leads me to one inescapable conclusion – he placed a CURSE on us!
::::Sektor looks at the glint in Jatt Starr’s eyes. His wheels are turning, formulating some hairbrained scheme. The Gold Standard can only drop his head and covers his eyes in disbelief.::::
JATT STARR: The only way to reverse the curse is to curse the one who cursed us with a curse of our own.
SEKTOR: Sounds too fuckin’ complicated, no thanks. I prefer to train and watch tape and bust their fuckin’ heads open.
JATT STARR: Are you really willing to take that chance with OUR HOW Tag Team Championships on the line? Remember, this isn’t some Best Alliance Freebird Tag Team tommyrot! This is StarrSek Industries, our reputation on the line. We won these championships and together we wanted to become the longest reigning tag team champions in HOW history! So I ask you again, are you really willing to risk all of that by refusing to counteract the curse he placed on us?
SEKTOR: Ah shit….fine, whaddya wanna do? Go to a shaman?
JATT STARR: Do you think that would help? I mean, I’ve never been with someone transitioning. Are we talking about a male transitioning to female? Or have they already completely transitioned? I’m somewhat openminded as long they don’t have a deeper voice than—-
SEKTOR: Mios Dio, Jatt! A shaman! SHAMAN! Like a Witch Doctor!
::::Jatt Starr, realizing his misunderstanding “shaman” for “she-man”, attempts to recover.::::
JATT STARR: Yeah! Of course! I know that! Duh. I mean, I was just wondering what kind of witch doctor you’re referring to. Witch doctors can transition too, you know. You’re so close minded!
SEKTOR: Uh huh.
JATT STARR: But we don’t need a witch doctor.
SEKTOR: Well, what’s the plan then?
JATT STARR: I’ll tell you on the way. We have to catch a flight out of this cesspool.
::::The Hero of Jattlanta smirks and proceeds to pick up the HOW Tag Team Championship and drapes it over his left shoulder. He proceeds to pick up his duffel bag and Mister Whacky and heads towards the door.::::
JATT STARR: Do you think I should change my look?
JATT STARR: You know, maybe change it up. Maybe wear some workout gear in the ring. White shorts, neon green tank. Maybe a headband?
SEKTOR: Who the fuck you think you are, Jack LaLanne? No!
JATT STARR: I was just thinking, you know, bolster the image. Rebrand.
SEKTOR: You wanna change your image? Lose some fucking weight.
JATT STARR: You should talk….
::::The Champion of Jattanooga exits the room followed by Sektor, who drops his head and wonders what loony tunes plan Jatt Starr has in his mind to “reverse the curse”. The door closes behind them, not with a “bang” but with a slight “click”.:::::
::::The scene shifts to almost twenty-four hours later. The Best Arena parking lot, which is being illuminated by the light poles intermittently spread out in a very particular and concise manner. The air is cool but not cold. Standing next to a dark colored Lexus is Jatt Starr. Next to him is a rather large, balding fellow with a pencil thin moustache and a receding hairline, what hair he does have is slicked back. The portly gentleman is sporting a rather expensive tailor made pinstripe double breasted suit and Italian loafers. The light glistens off of his sweaty, oily face.
The former LSD Champion is sporting a black t-shirt with the horrifying visage of Tommy Wisseau with the words “Oh Hi Mark” on it. He proceeds to “shadow” fence with Mister Whacky in his right hand, performing thrusting and parrying moves. There is a large open metal canister about ten feet from the car.::::
LARGE MAN: I ain’t waitin’ all night here.
JATT STARR: You want your money, Big Pussy, you will wait as long as it takes.
LARGE MAN: The name’s Sal.
JATT STARR: So was Big Pussy’s. Fancy that.
SAL: I got shit to do.
JATT STARR: You don’t want to be here? Boo-Freaking-Hoo. For the money I am paying you to drive me here and just wait, you should be thanking your lucky stars that I’m not asking you to wipe my ass. You have places to be? Be my guest, off you go. But don’t think for one second you are getting a dime from me.
::::Sal’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrow, folds his arms across his chest and reluctantly nods. Not one to be talked down to, it is difficult to keep his thoughts to himself but he reminds himself that Jatt Starr is paying him an obscene amount of money, but, as he said, he has a card game to get to. The earlier the better. As Jatt Starr resumes his fencing with hia walking cane with the weighted steel head, Sal opts to wait in the car.
Two minutes and thirty-two seconds later, headlights appear, a vehicle too far to see is driving into the parking lot. It is travelling at full speed and within seconds a silver Aston Martin comes to a screeching halt in front of the Thane of Starrkarth. Jatt Starr retrieves an envelope from the back pocket of his khakis and taps on the driver side window of the Lexus. Once Sal lowers the window, the King of Grapple from the Big Apple flippantly tosses the envelope into the car.
Sal picks up the envelope and proceeds to drive off to make his poker game. Jatt Starr turns around and approaches the Aston Martin as the driver, John Sektor emerges.::::
SEKTOR: Hola, amigo! Que pasa?
JATT STARR: A little over the top, don’t you think?
SEKTOR: Figured, what the hell? So, tell me what we are doing here?
JATT STARR: We are here to appease the HOW gods. They are the only ones who can truly end Teddy Suckspin’s winning streak over us.
SEKTOR: For the record, I am only doin’ this because your my partner—-
JATT STARR: —and you respect my opinion and believe in the power of the HOW gods.
SEKTOR: No. You will owe me one.
:::The Jattsylvanian Count shrugs off Sektor’s borderline to clear blasphemy and picks up his duffel bag from the ground and approaches the rather large metal barrel situated in the middle of the parking lot. Jatt Starr opens his duffel bag and retrieves a true vintage (not the fugasi “vintage” that Conor Fuse speaks about) Jatt Starr baseball jersey circa 2002. The jersey is black with gold lettering and reads “JATT STARR” on the front and “THE MACKDADDY OF MOJO” on the back. Whilst not an often used nickname nowadays it does remind him of the time he defeated Daddy Mack. He stands up and holds the jersey in the air.:::
SEKTOR: What the fuck are you doing?
JATT STARR: We must offer sacrifices to the HOW gods.
::::The Baron of Boca Jatton looks up to the heavens above the Best Arena.::::
JATT STARR: Oh gods of HOW, we are but your humble followers and HOW Tag Team Champions. An accomplishment that would not have been possible without your otherworldly support and influence. To Hroggenikedidas, god of wrestling apparel and Forgettor, god of forgotten HOW wrestlers, I offer this jersey in your names.
::::The man who formerly called himself the “Mackdaddy of Mojo” drops the jersey into the large metal container. Next he retrieves a Max Kael t-shirt that reads “El Presidente de Jattlantis”, which he raises to the heavens.::::
JATT STARR: To the Messenger of the HOW Gods, Max Kael and Vinricitia, HOW god of kinship, I offer up this t-shirt representing a time when Max Kael were not mortal enemies, but friends and allies with similar goals in mind, elven fears notwithstanding.
::::As the Jattagonian Giant is about to crouch down and retrieve another item, Sektor interrupts him by daring to speak.::::
SEKTOR: How many HOW gods are there?
JATT STARR: There are twelve main HOW gods, fourteen lower level gods, and then there’s Max Kael, messenger of the HOW gods, and Michael Denucci, the patron saint of caged ass kicking.
SEKTOR: That many? We need to sacrifice something to them all?
JATT STARR: I suppose we can omit Michael Denucci since this is not an HOFC match. And I guess Jeff doesn’t need a sacrifice.
JATT STARR: God of concessions.
JATT STARR: That reminds me, before we continue you have to toss in an item to sacrifice to Vinricitia.
SEKTOR: Do I have to?
JATT STARR: Yes.
::::Sektor proceeds to search his pockets and proceeds to pull out a condom and throws it in the canister.::::
SEKTOR: Oh great, um, Vermincita….
JATT STARR: Vinricitia
SEKTOR: Vin Diesita….
JATT STARR: Vinricitia
SEKTOR: What he said….
JATT STARR: You have to say the name. Vinricitia.
SEKTOR: Vinricitia. I fucking got it!
JATT STARR: No. Vinricitia.
SEKTOR: That’s what I said.
JATT STARR: You have to emphasize “CITIA” harder. Vin-Ri-CITIA
JATT STARR: No.
SEKTOR: FUCK! Vin-Ri-CITIA!
JATT STARR: By the gods! You got it!
JATT STARR: Now, say the god’s name again and tell them what you want and why you are sacrificing your item.
SEKTOR: VinriCITIA, allow us to, uh, continue our fucking dominance over the shitty tag team division by fucking destroying Teddy Palmer and Lindsay Troy next week! I sacrifice this condom as representation that I will be abstinent from having sex…
JATT STARR: Good job.
SEKTOR: …for the next two hours. Minimum. I rest my case. Amen.
::::The Jattlantic City Idol looks over at his HOW Tag Team Partner and shakes his head, hoping his bare minimum contribution does not anger or disappoint the HOW gods. Jatt Starr reaches into the duffel bag and retrieves a photograph of Teddy Palmer and tosses it into the container.:::::
JATT STARR: To the HOW god of health, disease, and pestilence, Morbydia! May you give Teddy Palmer with one of those stigmas that causes his eyes to bleed, explosive diarrhea, and his penis to melt off of his body in the most painful way possible.
::::Sektor stares at Jatt Starr as if he had not bathed for the better part of year.::::
SEKTOR: Can we wrap this shit up?
JATT STARR: Fine, fine. One more.
::::The Sovereign of Starrgentina reaches down and picks up Mister Whacky. He stares at the steel head, one moment, almost nostalgically, like an elderly man staring at a pocket watch given to him by his father on his deathbed, and the next, disgusted as if it had insulted his mother. What he believed to be a boon to the HOW gods was nothing more than an instrument of his defeat.::::
JATT STARR: I know it was you, Mister Whacky.
::::The Marquis of MadagaStarr kisses the steel head of the walking cane.::::
JATT STARR: You broke my heart. You broke my heart!
::::The HOW Hall of Famer tosses Mister Whacky into the metal receptacle. He once again looks at the heavens above the Best Arena whilst Sektor looks at his phone.::::
JATT STARR: Ye! To the HOW gods! Howmanra, Vinricitia, Aphrodenus, Morbydia, Inuranus, Morlock, Reinhardt, Forgettor, Valeniniar, Goresington, Jeff, Hroggenikedidas, Max Kael, and the others, whose names I can recite, but because your humble servant Sektor, with much repentance, requests this be handled expeditiously. We, StarrSek Industries, the tag team that you, the HOW gods, have deemed the only tag team worthy of championship gold, offer up to you these sacrifices….including Mister Whacky, a gift from arguably the greatest tag team champion of all time, Mario Maurako. A prized possession which signifies both my success as your tag team champion and my fall as your LSD Champion. We sacrifice these items to you…
::::Sektor looks on, with each passing word, he becomes more and more impatient whereas Jatt Starr becomes more and more impassioned as if he is leading the Spartans to battle the Persians.::::
JATT STARR: ….for we are your soldiers here on this corporal plane. We do thy bidding! Lee Best is merely an employer and not a “god” as his claims of such clearly desecrates the true gods of HOW, which is why I fear not in comparing him to Mister Magoo. And thus, ye, o mighty HOW deities….
::::The Jattlantic City reaches into the duffel bag and produces a container of lighter fluid which he proceeds to pour into the metal canister and a gold plated Zippo lighter.:::::
JATT STARR: ….our faith in you is unwavering and unconditional and thusly, ever so thusly, we request thine powerful and impotent powers to assist us in conquering the infidels of some Union Local Thing with a number, Lindsay Troy and Theodore “Teddy” Palmer….and with a strike of a match….or flick of this lighter I found in Brian Bare’s dressing room….I send my request to you in hopes you provide a sign of acknowledgment….
::::The Earl of GlouStarr flicks the lighter and flame dances in the night. Jatt Starr tosses the lighter into the metal can and it’s contents begin burning. The smoke begins filling the air, heading towards the sky.::::
SEKTOR: Now what?
JATT STARR: We wait for a sign.
SEKTOR: How long’s that gonna be?
JATT STARR: However long it takes.
SEKTOR: And if there is no sign?
JATT STARR: Then we do it ourselves.
SEKTOR: Should we….?
JATT STARR: No.
SEKTOR: We could—
JATT STARR: We need to stay.
SEKTOR: And do what?
JATT STARR: Talk?
SEKTOR: About what?
JATT STARR: Did you know someone purchased Napoleon’s penis at an auction sometime in the seventies?
SEKTOR: Let’s not talk.
::::The two men stand there looking at the fire, the heat emanating from the barrel. The silence, while comfortable at first, becomes less so. Minutes pass. Nothing. Jatt Starr begins to feel doubt. Have the HOW gods turned their backs on him? The longer they wait, the more the anxiety builds, feeling it grow inside his stomach. Sektor, after over fifteen minutes of waiting, breaks the silence.::::
SEKTOR: Brother, i don’t think—
:::The sound of “Bye, Bye, Bye” by Nsync emanates from Jatt Starr’s pocket. Jatt Starr’s eyes widen while Sektor looks on skeptically like a professor trained to expose myths staring a footprint made by Bigfoot. The Ruler of Jattlantis pulls out this phone and sees an unfamiliar number. Do the HOW gods have phones? He hits connect. He places the phone on speaker.::::
JATT STARR: You are in the presence of Jatt Starr. You may proceed.
::::The woman’s voice, a familiar voice, an unmistakable voice. Jatt Starr’s heart races as if he has downed a gallon espressos.::::
JATT STARR: Gilda??????
GILDA: I need to talk to you. In person. I’m at the bunker.
JATT STARR: Yeah, of course, totally.
GILDA: Good. I’ll see you soon?
JATT STARR: I’m in Chicago, I should be back by morning, early afternoon, late afternoon, you know whenever. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Do you want me pick up some pizza or ice….oh, she hung up.
::::Sektor looks flabbergasted and Jatt Starr smiles. A beaming smile.::::
JATT STARR: She called!
SEKTOR: That’s good….I hope.
JATT STARR: Never doubt the HOW gods, brother! The gave us a sign! A giant neon, Mother Loving sign!
::::Sekor considers bringing up the fact that it could just be a coincidence, but thinks better of it. If Jatt wants to believe it’s a sign, so be it. Jatt Starr picks up his duffel bag and tosses it into the Aston Martin. There is a swagger, a confidence in Jatt Starr’s gait, an almost self-assuredness that has been lacking as of late. Jatt Starr, right here, right now, feels fucking invincible. END SCENE::::