::::SCENE: January 2, 2021. Jatt Starr strolls into St. Ignatius Catholic Church, well, less strolling and more limping and hobbling, the HOW Tag Team Championship around his waist under the houndstooth overcoat, the LSD Championship over his shoulder. Each step sends a throbbing, stabbing pain throughout his body. LSD Champions don’t feel pain, they live with it.
The faint smell of frankincense and myrrh lingers into the foyer. The sound of a coin clanging to his right as an elderly man lights a candle. The Ruler of Jattlantis continues into the nave of the church. Saturday confessions from two o’clock to four o’clock every Saturday.
The Ruler of Jattlantis looks to the right and sees her. Lucy. The girl with the two mismatched shoes. LSD Champions always keep their promises. That is what he told her. A girl bullied for a scar on one side of her face and an unmistakable birthmark on the other.
The Jattagonian Giant can relate to one of those stigmas. At ICONIC he was impaled by a hook. “Permanent scarring.” That’s what the doctor said. Jatt Starr of ten years ago would be devastated by the disfigurement. But now? LSD Champions don’t get disfigured, they say “you should see the other guy”.
The Hero of Jattlanta walks down the pew and sits about five feet from Lucy. She turns and her face brightens up and smiles.::::
LUCY (whispering loudly): Simon!
JATT STARR: Hey kiddo.
::::Lucy studies Jatt Starr’s face with the curiosity that only a child possesses. Her wide eyes narrow, noticing the “V” shaped scar on his cheek.:::
LUCY: What happened to you?
JATT STARR: I won. In the end I always win. LSD Champion.
LUCY: What does LSD stand for?
JATT STARR: Legendary Starr Duke.
LUCY: We had a dog named Duke, but she ran away?
JATT STARR: “She?”
LUCY: Yeah, it was a chihuahua.
JATT STARR: Ugh. I don’t want my name to be cinnamonous with a rat dog.
LUCY: Don’t you mean “synonymous”?
JATT STARR: I’ve heard it both ways. The point is, I’ll need to come up with another “D” word. What about you? Did you throat punch that Molly girl?
LUCY: No. We’re on winter break.
JATT STARR: Ah. Just as well. My outlook on your situation has changed since becoming the LSD Champion. It’s one thing to kick that little bitch’s ass….
LUCY (admonishingly): You can’t say that.
JATT STARR: Kiddo, if you are a bitch as a kid, you’ll grow up to be a cuh…um…a grand superbitch unless you get knocked down a peg. What you do, Lucy, is walk up to Molly and you attack. The schoolyard is just like an LSD match. There’s no rules. Every time she knocks you down, you get up and break her nose, yank her out, claw out her eyes, grab some dirt and throw it in her face, and when she screams to the gods “My eyes! My eyes!” you kick her in the kneecap as hard as you can and with every ounce of strength you’ve got, you clock her in the face. The nose or the eye.
LUCY: I can’t do that.
JATT STARR: Why not?
LUCY: I’m afraid to get in trouble. I don’t like fighting. I don’t think that I can—-
JATT STARR: Kiddo, it’s either that or be her doormat. I didn’t become the LSD Chamion by being afraid. I became the LSD Champion because I wanted it more than anyone else. When I was broken, bleeding, half of my face hanging down, flopping around with each step I took, I knew that I was not going to let that thrasonical, knotty-pated parasite Steve Harrison get the better of me! Nope.
LUCY: I just want it to stop.
JATT STARR: Have you told your mother yet?
LUCY: Not yet. Snitches get stitches.
JATT STARR: Well played. Now, if you do knock down the Queen Bitch of the Yard, just remember, while she might leave you alone, there’s always someone else who wants to be Queen.
LUCY: What do you mean?
JATT STARR: Let me put it to you this way, it’s one thing to win the LSD Championship, it’s a whole other thing to stay the champion. You can’t underestimate anybody. You must always be alert. You never know who is hiding in the shadows ready to take you down.
LUCY: I think I understand.
JATT STARR: Great. Well, I have a few things to do. Catch you later.
::::The King of Grapple from the Big Apple rises from the pew and makes his way to the large wooden double doors leading into the foyer. He kept his promise. The karmic returns on that should be massive. He takes one last look at the golden haired little girl and her mother, who emerges from the confessional. Tall, blonde, busty, a pixie haircut. Maybe a little tanner than his preference, but if she can maintain a tan like that, why is Lucy wearing two different shoes? Questions like those are questions he cannot afford to have. Whatever questions he has, there is one inescapable thought that comes to his mind —- “Damn, Lucy’s mom is hot”.
But, LSD Champions don’t have time for relationships.::::
Weeks pass. The loneliness fades from a constant emptiness to a mere nuisance where he randomly texts Sektor or Hugo or even Lee (although, Lee is blind and probably never sees the texts, but he’s got to have someone reading them to him, right?).
Two days removed from the defeat suffered at the hands of Steve Harrison, nothing has changed. Whilst the Thane of Starrkarth may be knocked out of contention for the HOFC Championship, he still remains the LSD Champion and Tag Team Champion.
That’s all that matters.
As long as he is the Tag Team Champion, he will always be bonded with his bestest friend in the world, Sektor.
But the LSD Championship? That’s not just a title, it’s a way of life. It’s a code. It’s the structure he needs.
Being a double champion, though. That’s a straight up lifestyle. His popularity has never been greater, DeNucci Cup or not.
For the past several weeks, the Champion of Jattanooga has been creating his science fiction masterpiece, plotting the imminent downfall of the Hollywood Bruvs, and polishing his belts. There has been the occasional partying with Sektor, who, over the past week, has been rage fucking anything with a D-cup, thin waist, and blood alcohol level of .10 or greater, even in one case, a brunette in her early thirties. It was a jarring sight to see.
Sektor has been somewhat distracted. That much is true. So much so, that the day to day operations of StarrSek Industries has been left to the Ruler of Jattlantis.
That leads us to today.
Jatt Starr is sitting in the StarrSek Industries Epicenter in the Best Arena, his stomach is grumbling and rumbling after the three jelly and two chocolate frosted donuts he consumed an hour ago. He is sporting a black “Brotherhood of Steel” t-shirt, khakis, and black Adidas sneakers with Ortholite. It’s important to wear comfortable footwear. His body is aching and sore. Such is the life of the LSD Champion.
As he leans back in his leather office chair, his legs up on the conference table, his feet resting a foot away from the official StarrSek Industries Jatt Starr/Sektor Best Friends plush, the door opens.
She enters. Ellie. The new personal assistant for StarrSek Industries. A purely Jatt Starr hire. She has everything that Sektor will not typically sleep with. She’s thirty-four. Not particularly buxom, and rather nerdish in a librarian sort of way, with her strawberry hair pulled up into a bun, but there is an inherent cuteness to her, with her large clear framed glasses and blues eyes. She carries two cups of coffee and places them in front of the Baron of Boca Jatton::::
ELLIE: Here you are. Two coffees. Columbian Blend. Six Sugars each. Three creams.
JATT STARR: Has Hugo arrived yet?
ELLIE: I do not know who that is.
JATT STARR: Large dude. Looks like Two-Face from Batman, only less stylish.
ELLIE: No sir.
JATT STARR: Don’t call me “sir”. You may either refer to me as “the great and exalted Mister Starr” or “Mister LSD” or “Champ”. No, nix that last one, it makes you seem like you are my parent and that’s too creepy.
ELLIE: Is just “Mister Starr” to your satisfaction?
JATT STARR: I suppose. It lacks the panache I was looking for. Has Hugo arrived?
ELLIE: I have not seen the man you described, Mister Starr.
JATT STARR: Carry on, then.
ELLIE: With what?
JATT STARR: ….something.
ELLIE: Such as?
JATT STARR: I don’t know, something official. Make calls.
ELLIE: I will find something to do.
::::Ellie proceeds to exit the room. The HOW Hall of Famer takes his feet off the table and takes a sip of coffee. The cup radiates heat, nearly blistering his hand, the piping hot liquid itself nearly burns the taste buds off of his tongue. The taste, however, is there: very sweet with a bitter aftertaste.
The Sultan of SeaJattle reaches down and pulls up his eight hundred and thirty-two page untitled sci-fi epic from the stachel next to his chair. The screenplay hits the wooden tabletop with a thud (and was there an ever so slight cracking sound he heard? Nah).
The Jattlantic City Idol begins leaning back into his chair, looking at the track lighting hanging about the ceiling, pondering potential titles for his screenplay. He cannot send it out to MGM, Warner Bros., New Line Cinema, RKO, or even Troma without a title.
After a few minutes of unfruitul pondering, Ellie re-enters.::::
ELLIE: Mister Starr, Mister Sektor is here.
JATT STARR: No need to announce the Seks Machine, he comes and goes as he pleases as co-owner and co-founder of StarrSek industries.
ELLIE: Of course.
::::The Gold Standard walks in, wearing shades (because maybe he realized his future is so bright he has to wear them?), jeans, and bright neon yellow tropical shirt….in the dead winter of Illinois. He is committed to his fashion sense. The fantastically moustached tag team champion takes a seat about three chairs over from his moustacheless partner. Ellie exist the room.::::
SEKTOR: Who is that?
JATT STARR: Ellie, our new personal assistant.
SEKTOR: Not exactly a looker is she. Not exactly chesty, is she?
JATT STARR: Don’t be so shallow. As Brannigan O’Sexchap says “Tits don’t make the woman, the woman makes the tits.” By the way, have you read it, yet?
SEKTOR: The screenplay? Yeah, I read three pages. It’s shit.
JATT STARR: Like the good shit?
SEKTOR: No, if I said it was THE shit, it would be good shit. This fucking thing that you wrote is a pile of shit.
JATT STARR: You need to read more than three pages!
SEKTOR: I really fucking don’t.
JATT STARR: It has everything! Action! Adventure! Aliens! Zombies! Sex! Blood! Humor! Romance! Boobs!
SEKTOR: The first six pages are a list of the fucking characters. You have twenty-two main characters! You have a character named “The Bromanche Chief”. No. I can’t. My time is too fucking valuable.
JATT STARR: You are not the key demographic for this film, obviously.
SEKTOR: You mean a rational person?
JATT STARR: Why are you here?
SEKTOR: You missed the last three training sessions and considering you have your first LSD Title defense next week, I wanted to see if you were going to actually show up this week.
JATT STARR: It’s Blobby Dean. The guy gets winded opening up a bathroom stall door. It’sa piece of cake.
SEKTOR: And it looks like you’ve had your share of cake.
JATT STARR: You calling me fat?
SEKTOR: Not exactly. How can I put this in a way you can understand? Before ICONIC you were Tony Soprano, lately you’re more Bobby Bacala.
JATT STARR: I am the LSD Champion. LSD Champions don’t do sit ups! Or push ups! Or chin ups! LSD Champions don’t do exercises with “up” in the name. Once Sid realizes that, I’ll come back.
SEKTOR: I must say, you seem rather relaxed for someone who got their ass kicked two nights ago.
JATT STARR: I choose to believe I almost won, considering the circumstances. I’m maintaining a positive outlook. I’m not an HOFC guy. Those cages. What are we, animals?
SEKTOR: Alright, but I would hate to see what would happen if….you know….
JATT STARR: What?
SEKTOR: You were sitting here, wasting your time writing about whatever the fuck and praying that your HOW gods will protect you—-
JATT STARR: LSD Champions don’t believe in HOW gods. The HOW gods believe in the LSD Champion.
SEKTOR: Will you shut the fuck up and let me finish?
JATT STARR: Sorry.
SEKTOR: What if Bobby Dean wins?
JATT STARR: Fuck you!
SEKTOR: I’m dead fucking serious. You underestimated Brian Hollywood and he kicked your ass. Now, you’re underestimating Bobby Dean? In a title match?
JATT STARR: What? Don’t you think I can beat him?
:::There is an awkward pause as Jatt Starr expectantly stares Sektor the way a child might when questioning the existence of Santa Claus. Sektor rubs his moustache with his right hand as he stares back at Jatt Starr. Almost sizing him up, what should he tell his partner? How will he react? Best to be honest.:::::
SEKTOR: Oh, I think you CAN beat him. You are a motherfucking LEGEND, Jatt. But I also think that if you don’t get your fucking head out of your ass and stop jerking yourself off pronto, he will catch you off guard and the next thing you know your head will be down his pants and you’ll smelling ball sweat before he knocks you the fuck out with, and I can’t fucking believe I’m gonna say this out loud, his “Deaner Weiner”.
JATT STARR: Okay. I got it. You have made your point. ELLIE!
:::Ellie opens the door, her slender five foot seven frame, ensconced in a gray pinstriped power suit walks in.::::
ELLIE: Yes, Mister Starr?
JATT STARR: We’re going to send a letter to Blobby Dean.
::::Ellie cannot contain herself and lets out a thunderous snorting laugh, which actually sounds like a pig being tortured to death. Jatt Starr and Sektor jerk in their chairs, not expecting the sheer volume (and content) Ellie’s laugh. Her face turns red with embarrassment. She knows her usual controlled, reserved natured can be upended with bad jokes. She does not know why it affects her the way it does, but dammit if “Dumb and Dumber” is one of the greatest movies of all time.:::::
ELLIE: My apologies.
JATT STARR: No, your laugh is quite….
JATT STARR: ….quirky.
ELLIE: Forgive me, but would not an e-mail be more efficient?
JATT STARR: E-mails! Pssh! Balderdash! Who do you think we are? Some common internet ogre? We here, at StarrSek Industries handwrite our letters. It adds that bit of personal touch that is so lacking in the world. Get a pen and legal pad. Let’s go! Chop-chop!
::::Ellie nods and proceeds to back up out of the room. She feels that compulsion to be a wiseass which got her in trouble at her last job. She’s not going to say it, she’s only going to think it, right?.:::
ELLIE (mumbling): Yes, m’lord.
JATT STARR: Ooo…M’Lord! I like that! We’re keeping that!
::::A mortified and embarrassed Ellie opens her eyes wide and puts her hand over her mouth as if she just told her sister-in-law that their baby looks like a cross between Vin Diesel and an alien. She closes the door behind her as her face becomes flush.:::
SEKTOR: I don’t think she likes you.
JATT STARR: I don’t have a “lord” in my repertoire of nicknames. I have a ruler, a thane, a sovereign, a baron, a champion, an idol, and an icon….but no lord.
:::The door opens and Ellie, her face slightly pink, her composure regained. She carries a yellow legal pad and a gold pen.::::
ELLIE: I am ready for your letter.
JATT STARR: Splendid! How should we start this? “Dear Bobby Dean – Comma – I must say I really respect your – dot – dot – dot – dot- dot —-”
ELLIE: Perhaps you should just tell me how many periods you want.
JATT STARR: I don’t think any man wants to have a period. That’s a chick thing.
::::Ellie’s facial expression does not change, she only cocks her eyebrow. Deep down, she’s satisfied, self-control. Never let them see your emotion. But can Jatt Starr really be this thick headed? Of course, when he corrected her when she said she “knew Word” by saying “I think you mean ‘words’.” should have clued her in.::::
JATT STARR: Ah, five dots.
ELLIE: Got it.
JATT STARR: “I respect your dot – dot – dot – dot – dot. Oh wait – comma – I don’t respect you – exclamation point – You are a gorbellied – comma – pale-hearted – comma – measle – dot. May blood seep from your anus and vomit spew from your nose – comma – you sickening pimple of a man – period. Do you honestly believe that you are LSD Championship material – Question mark. LSD Champions do not have floppy man boobs – period. Sincerest regards – comma – Jatt Starr. P – dot – S – dot – I am submitting a side from my Untitled masterpiece – dot – You would be perfect for Fat Degenerate – Number Sign – Three – Dot. The one with the boils with and a strange Snorks fetish ho ends up violating a corpse – Dot – I do not know what experience you have with violating corpses – comma – but you seem like the type that would have tons of it – dot” Please send pages three hundred and eight to three hundred and eleven.
::::Sektor can only stare at the Jattinum Standard with a level of disappointment only seen by a father watching his son drop an easy pop fly at second base causing their team to lose in a little league playoff game. Whereas Jatt Starr has the look of pride of someone who has just served Gordon Ramsay a Beef Wellington and has been praised for it’s taste and presentation.::::
ELLIE: Yes, Mister Starr.
JATT STARR: “M’Lord”.
ELLIE: Excuse me?
JATT STARR: You may refer to me as “M’Lord”.
ELLIE: I don’t think that’s—-
JATT STARR: CALL ME M’LORD!!!!
::::Jatt Starr slams his hand on the table, Ellie jumps backwards nearly dropping the pad and pen. The outburst, seemingly out of nowhere, is jarring to Ellie. Sektor, for his part, is unable to stifle a slight smile.::::
JATT STARR: Apologies. Just remember who will be signing your paychecks.
::::Ellie proceeds to take the letter to Bobby Dean and exits the room.::::
SEKTOR: She’s not going to last very long, amigo.
JATT STARR: I’ll tell her to buy herself something nice for twenty bucks.
SEKTOR: What’re you trying to do with a letter? Bobby Dean’s not gonna be shitting himself in fear by reading that.
JATT STARR: I’m getting in his head.
SEKTOR: No one wants to be in that fuck’s head.
JATT STARR: ELLIE!!!
::::Ellie leans her bespectacled head into the doorway.::::
ELLIE: Yes, M’Lord?
JATT STARR: Also have seven pizzas sent to the Best Arena care of Bobby Dean on Saturday.
::::Ellie disappears from sight. Sektor provides a silent yet clear “What the fuck?” look to his tag team partner.:::
JATT STARR: No one can resist the call of pizza. Least of all, Bobby Dean. When it’s time for our match, he’ll be so full, he will be weak, sluggish and will render him, as Colonel Vex says “as useless as mongoose trying to fuck a fish”.
SEKTOR: I have no fucking clue how your— Nevermind. Just show up at Sid’s tomorrow.
JATT STARR: I’ll be there.
:::The Marquis of MadagaStarr forces himself to make sure he keeps that commitment. He admits to himself that maybe he has ditched training on more than one occasion in favor of his screenplay. Now is the time to buckle down, focus on preparing. Bobby Dean might be a slouch, but it’s only going to get worse from here. This match needs to be a statement match. The statement being, Jatt Starr is the LSD Champion and he’s going be the LSD Champion for a long, long time. END SCENE::::