There is no blinking shiny red light for Simon Loveless this time.
This time, there is only silence.
He lost his camera, lost his smile, and took his ball home.
Cause he knew the only way he could beat High Flyer…
… is by showin’ up.
FADEIN: A single light sways from left to right at the top of the camera frame. As it passes by, it lights up the smiling cackling face of Jack Harmen. Over his shoulder, with her arms crossed in front of her chest is Mary-Lynn Mayweather. Harmen reaches out and grabs the swinging lightbulb with his bare hands. It’s hot, and there’s the faintest smell of singed flesh that fills the room.
Jack Harmen: ALLLLLLLL ABOARD! The No Show King EXPRESS! Listen Mary, when wrestlers enter a HOW ring against me at a handicap, how many have I beaten?
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Too many to count.
Jack Harmen: Too many to count! And how many people have I beaten when it’s been a fair fight?
Harmen throws one arm out triumphantly.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: None.
Harmen turns, nodding enthusiastically.
Jack Harmen: NONE OF ‘Em— Wait – Jeez, really?
He’s no longer enthusiastic. He even lets go of the lightbulb. It sways, but not nearly as dramatically as before.
Jack Harmen: I could have swore I beat up that girl once…
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: You’re the No Show King.
Jack Harmen: Wait, do you know what No Show King means?
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Nope.
Jack Harmen: I don’t know what that means…
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Not surprising. You were pretty hammered last night at the bar, I’m pretty sure you candy flipped and thought it was a mint wrapped in a Listerine tab. Then you just kept shouting “NO SHOW KING” at me and told me over and over about how we were going to do this epic promo where you call yourself the No Show King. I was very confused. Intrigued but confused. About as confused as you are now.
Jack Harmen: Hmmm. Wait. Did… Did I stumble upon some sort of universal truth? Did I peer through the reality? See the truth behind the matrix? Did I see God?
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: Maybe?
Mary-Lynn and Jack look directly into the camera. They take a beat, thinking deeply. Mary-Lynn shakes her head no as Harmen just shrugs his shoulders. He then smiles.
Jack Harmen: No Show King. I like the sound of that, even without meaning! So, here’s the deal. You show up against me, put your heart and soul into it. You win. Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. Depends how I feel that week. Don’t care. The journey is more important than the destination anyway. The violence in a wrestling ring is more important to me than whose hand gets raised. You know? But if you no show, you half ass it, I will beat you. Definitely probably. Within an inch of your life, maybe. I don’t know, and then turn you imaginary or something. I’ll make sure you never show your imaginary self in the Highest of Octane Diesel Fuel Wrasslin’ Extravaganza’s EVEAH again.
Mary-Lynn thinks quizzically. She then dismisses this whole exchange as the rambling of a lunatic.
Jack Harmen: I know.
Mary-Lynn Mayweather: This is a special kind of crazy.
Jack Harmen: Thank you!
Harmen’s wide Cheshire like smile dominates the frame as our cameraman zooms in on it.
Until all that’s left is a black matte.