Spot the Difference

Spot the Difference

Posted on March 10, 2021 at 11:48 am by High Flyer

HERE’S ME, fifteen years ago… and here’s CONOR FUSE, five seconds ago.

Spot the differences.

Here’s the hint. There ain’t any.

Sure, he’s got a purple hue. And he’s wrapped and packaged with lead paint and video games instead of snow and TV, big whoop. I was droppin’ references to Lost when people didn’t realize the show’s direction was it’s namesake. I bridged the gap between pop culture and poppin’ the crowd in this Family Guy era of witless wit — all so a guy like Conor Fuse can say FORT NITE DURH in a desperate attempt to make people give a shit about him.

You peg yourself on the HOW web site as “one-of-a-kind.”

Kindly fuck the fuck off…


It’s a quiet Tuesday morning. Sitting in the window of a small diner car in the middle of the bumfuck Arizona’s warmest desert, High Flyer rests his chin on his fist while stirring a warm cup of coffee. The steam rises into the nostrils and clears the mind with amphetamine. He wears his plain black as black HOW t-shirt and a tightly worn knitted white snow cap to hide his trademark green hair.

There’s a little jingle jangle, as a few approaching footsteps echo loudly in the otherwise empty diner. Plopping down in the seat directly across from Flyer is none other than his brother-in-law and frequent tag team partner, Tony Davis. Tony Davis is known for three things in particular, amateur Olympic Wrestling background, his failed 90s Rap CD, and most important for today’s discussion … his love of video games.

Tony looks a bit disheveled, but anyone who knows him would say he looks normal. His shirt is half tucked into his pants while his long blue rasta hair flows, covering his face slightly. He turns to the waitress who emerges and he makes motion for another cup just like Jack’s. She walks off with a smile.

High Flyer: So, what do you got for me?

Flyer’s all business as he starts to lay out various manilla envelops, one in particular with a mug shot of Conor Fuse on the cover. Tony Davis looks like he just remembered something. The whole reason he’s here even, he’s just remembered. He quickly rushes out of the room. After a few seconds and an eye roll from Flyer, Davis re-emerges into the diner, dragging behind him a large box. It clatters with a thud in the aisle of the restaurant.

Tony Davis: There.

High Flyer: What. Why. What is this?

Tony Davis: It’s my video game collection.

Tony said, pulling out an atari joy pad before chucking it over his head.

High Flyer: You flew all this out here for… I… grrr.

Flyer rubs his eyes, and then continues to run his hands up, pulling off his beanie and lets his fingers part and tug at his long green hair.

High Flyer: I asked you how to beat an idiot manchild who thinks the world is a game…

Tony Davis: :Yeah, but, cheat codes!

Tony holds up a handful of half broken Game Genies.

Flyer doesn’t react. He is unamused.

High Flyer: This isn’t a game Tony.

Tony Davis: Listen, Conor Fuse…

High Flyer: Conor Fuse is going to be the greatest wrestler HOW has ever seen, yeah? Cause he’s got my skills, he’s got the drive, the motivation… he’s just… a little rough around the edges. I mean, lookin’ at this spitfire…

Nearby, the waitress arrives with Tony Davis’ cup of coffee. She also puts a small plate of bacon and two egg cups in front of Flyer.

High Flyer: … he’s basically a younger version of me… So, all I gotta do…

Flyer takes a spoon, lifts up an egg cup, and shows it off to Davis.

High Flyer: … Is make him crack.

With two quick pats, the egg shell cracks and Flyer begins to peel back the layers.

Tony stares on. He listened, but he did not understand.

High Flyer: Then? I’ll finally get to see what Conor Fuse is TRULY made of.

Dumbfounded, Tony tilts his head to the side.

Tony Davis: … egg?

High Flyer: Yes. Conor Fuse is made up of egg.

Flyer takes the back of the spoon and smacks Tony once in the forehead with it. Tony winces in pain as Flyer takes one last look at the HOW Promotional photo of Conor Fuse adorning the front cover of his manilla folder.


You may think I did all this to hurt you Conor.

Far from it.

We stumble, we fall, we pick ourselves back up again.

We’re not humpty dumpty. Even when I make you crack, you’re going to put yourself back together again. And when the puzzle pieces of yourself don’t quite fit the right way you expected, you may be reformed into something all new, unknowing, and powerful beyond your wildest imaginations.

I hurt you to help you Conor. See. You don’t understand this yet.

I DO think you can beat Mike Best.

I DON’T think you can RIGHT NOW.

As you are, you’re lucky you beat Scottywood. You’ll be lucky to take me out, and you’ve seen my HOW track record. See, you need a bit of an edge. You need that extra gear that only vitriol and vengeance can provide.

So I hurt Conor Fuse now…

… to hurt Mike Best later.

Because I believe in you Conor Fuse. I believe if I can’t beat Mike Best and take the HOW World Championship… you will. Thing is, you gotta prove to me that I made you ready. You gotta prove to me, in Madison Square Garden, that you aren’t just a spoiled idiot man child. You gotta prove to me you’re ready to get your hands truly dirty, to usher in a new era of Conor Fuse.

Or… you can show that you’ve just got further to fall. And I’ll have to work just a little harder to break you.

Even if I lose to you Conor, I win.

Isn’t that machiavellian?