The Starrmenian Stud

The Starrmenian Stud

Posted on June 18, 2024 at 8:02 pm by Jatt Starr

The Ruler of Jattlantis never thought that he could pull off a “banana hammock” but as he gazed at himself in his bedroom mirror, he was happy to admit he was wrong.  Dead wrong.  He looked great.  Fabulous, even.  He stood there sporting a black and 97Red gingham plaid male thong and could not take his eyes off of himself.  

Sure, the Sultan of SeaJattle’s body was still redder than a sunburned lobster on Mars from his body waxing the day prior, but he could help but to marvel at the metamorphosis that he had experienced over the past five days.  He could not find a blemish on his body.  The scars scattered across his body which he wore as a badge of honor had disappeared (the scar on his cheek, however, still remained). Whatever medicine or toxins that quack-a-doodle nutbar injected him with, it not only removed the scars, it removed the pain.  He could fall asleep with a nagging twinge in his neck or back.  He could lift more than ten pounds without wincing.  He could get up off the couch or out of bed without an agonized moan escaping his lips.  

The Hero of Jattlanta had truly felt ten, nay, twenty years younger.

Jatt Starr had spent the last twenty minutes looking at himself in the mirror.  He did all the poses.  “The Strongman”.  “The He-Man”.  “The Hanz”.  “The Franz”. “The Jatturday Night Fever”.  “The Karate Kid Crane Kick”.  “The Chesapeake Clam Chowder”.  He was astonished at the transformation.  

He was “Starrmenian Stud”.

Ezster interrupted his self-admiration by exiting the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel.

 

JATT STARR: What are you doing?

EZSTER: Getting dressed.

JATT STARR: Yeah, but you have to saunter around half-naked, teasing me with your womanly partial nakedness.  

EZSTER: I am sorry but this is only bathroom.

JATT STARR: You know seeing you like…. 

 

The Marquis of MadagaStarr waved his hand and fingers up and down from Ezster’s head to feet repeatedly as if he were trying to both wave and swat a fly simultaneously.  Ezster went into the dresser drawer and removed some clothes.

 

JATT STARR: that makes me hornier than a porcupine.

EZSTER: Porcupine has quills, not horns. 

JATT STARR: Whatever animal has the most horns.

EZSTER: Kosmoceratops had fifteen horns. Most of any animal.

JATT STARR (gritting teeth): Oh! It turns me on when you give me trivial facts.

 

There were, however, some side effects.  One such side effect was being easily aroused and apparently, sexual intercourse resulted in a rather disturbing turn of events for the injected. Due to this grotesque side effect, the not-so-sane doctor expressed that the Duke of Jattmandu not take part in any sexual activity for at least two weeks (regardless of Jatt’s protests that he was not a rodent). It was constantly hard (pun intended) to curb these feelings. Ezster did not make it any easier by wearing tightfitting clothing that accentuated her curves and—–

The Starabian Knight walked over to the closet, opened a box, and tossed some clothes onto the bed.

 

JATT STARR: Wear that.

EZSTER: What is it?

 

Ezster approached the bed and cocked an eyebrow as she lifted the clothes.  

 

EZSTER: Jogging suit?

JATT STARR:  Hey now!  That is not a jogging suit.  That, my little sweet roll, is an official “StarrSek Industries” tracksuit.  It is a collector’s item.  Plus, it’s loose fitting so I do not get all, you know, if you walk by or bend over or sit down….

EZSTER: Okay…okay….

JATT STARR:  And just seeing you in it will be a simple reminder of my so-called “Co-Hall of Famer Tag Team Partner” which is bound to kill any erection I have.

EZSTER: I said “Okay”!  Eat a chill pill.

 

The Ruler of Jattlantis breathed a sigh of relief as Ezster headed back into the bathroom.  If she had stayed in the room any longer, Jatt Starr feared his banana hammock would transform into a teepee.  He turned back towards the mirror to continue the “gun show”.  At least, that was what he intended.  Instead, he just stared at himself.

Arousal began to morph into anger.

He was angry that he had to wait until after “War Games” until the Starrlite Sexpress could pull into Ezster Station.  He was angry that he was not an odds on favorite to win the match.  He was angry that one of the unforeseen consequences in this regeneration serum was muscle spasms.  The previous evening, he knocked over the marble bust he had commissioned of Michelle Branch’s head as he was walking by and now she has no nose.  And he was angry that no matter how well he did at “War Games”, he would not walk out the HOW World Champion. Even if he were the last man standing either that douchewaffle Evan Ward or that blunderbuss Mike Best would reap the benefit.  

But still…..

Maybe if the Jattinum Standard was the last man standing, maybe, just maybe, Lee Best would alter the rules and declare Jatt Starr the World Champion.  Lee was the G-O-D of H-O-W, he could do whatever the frick and frack he wanted. It was not likely.  In fact, it was almost an impossibility.  The “almost” gave him that sliver of hope he needed.

His thoughts were disrupted once again by Ezster leaving the bathroom.  She came out wearing a black lace bra and the StarrSek Industries gray tracksuit pants with yellow lining.  The Jatti Master had to divert his attention towards the ground.  He looked down at the cream carpet beneath his feet.

EZSTER: I need t-shirt.

JATT STARR: Okay.

EZSTER: I was thinking we go to dinner with Bela.

JATT STARR: That would be difficult since we have a flight to Scotland at six a.m. and we need to be at the airport two hours earlier.  

EZSTER: I thought flight was at six at night?  Did you…..

 

Ezster stopped in the middle of putting on her t-shirt (an official Jatt Starr “Rembrandt of Wrestling” t-shirt, to be exact).  She turned towards Jatt Starr, looking at him through the head hole of the shirt.

 

EZSTER: What do you mean “we”? I cannot go, I have no, uhhhh, what is it?  Passaport.

 

The Grand Overlord of Jatturn could not hold back a smile as walked over to the dresser next to Ezster, opened the bottom drawer and retrieved a manila envelope.  As soon as Ezter’s head and arm popped through the t-shirt, he handed it to her.

 

JATT STARR: Surprise!

 

Ezster took the envelope and tore into it like a toddler on Christmas morning.  She reached into it and pulled out it’s contents.

 

EZSTER: Is this…?

JATT STARR:   You did not actually presume that I would leave you behind to go galavanting on with DAVE,  did you?

EZSTER: Dave is nice man.  His wife does charity for homeless.

JATT STARR: Yeah, his wife is a saint. He might very well be a Sektor acolyte dropping roofies in co-ed beverages. Man, the Jattinum Standard wants to slap that garish moustache off that smarmy bastard’s face, same team or not.

EZSTER: Dave has no moustache.

JATT STARR: I am referring to Sektor.  Hold up! You have seen this prick?

EZSTER: Of course. But you don’t have to be green with the jealousy. You know how I feel about you even if you don’t feel the…..who is “Terri Alden”?

 

Ezster flipped the passport around as if she were Olivia Benson shoving her badge into some perp’s face.  Jatt Starr had to lean back to avoid getting popped in the nose with it.

 

JATT STARR: You are, baby! 

EZSTER: No, I’m not.

JATT STARR:  At least until we get to jolly ol’ Scotland, you are.  

EZSTER: This is phony like two dollar bill.  It is big lie.

JATT STARR:  Babe, baby, sweetie, honey, schnookum bear…it is all good.  It has the watermarks and everything. I spared no expense. It was purchased from a friend of a friend of a friend who “knows people”.

EZSTER: It looks nothing like me!

JATT STARR: Sure it does! Minus the obvious, endearing marks around your beautiful mouth.

 

It was true the passport was obtained through less than legal channels.  It was true that the Champion of Jattanooga did not ask questions on how it was obtained.  It was also true that while the image on the passport did have a passable resemblance to Ezster, it did lack the nine scars just above and just below her lips. “Terri Alden” was also smiling in the photo, flashing straight, perfect teeth whereas Jatt Starr purchased braces for his lady fair two months ago.

 

JATT STARR: No one’s going to look that closely at it!  Ezzie, “War Games” could be a huge night for the Rembrandt of Wrestling.  I want to share it with you. If the stars align and the HOW gods are in my favor, I could walk out winning the whole darned thing. Do you realize what that would mean?  You and I would be treated as royalty.  The King and Queen of the HOW.

EZSTER: World Champion.

JATT STARR: Well, not technically no. It is a whole thing, the rules are complicated, we do not need to go through all of that right now. But I cannot do it without you.

 

Especially the post-match celebration. Ezster stared at the passport, clearly pondering her options. She takes a step closer to Jatt.

 

JATT STARR: What would you have me do?  Go alone? In my condition? Upset one minute, aroused the next. I am liable to shack up with the first trollop that says “hi” to me.

EZSTER: Like this Lexi Gold?

JATT STARR: Please!  She is a guppy in a fishbowl full of sharks.

EZSTER: You don’t think she is…. attractive?

 

Yes. 

 

JATT STARR: Of course not.

EZSTER: What would you do if she come close to you during “War Games” match, hm?  If she get this close.

 

Ezster alluringly strode up to Jatt Starr.  He could smell the floral aromatics of her shampoo. He could feel himself starting to get aroused.  Slight increase in heart rate. Shortness of breath. His right elbow involuntarily jerked outward, although that could have been from the serum.

 

JATT STARR: We, uh, should change the subject. Besides, I do not even know if she is even competing in the—-

EZSTER: Tell me.

JATT STARR:  I would grab her by the hair and grind her face into the steel cage until she bleeds and then I would drive her face into the mat, hopefully disfiguring her.

 

Ezster smile and lightly bit down on her bottom lip.  She kissed two fingers and placed them on the Scourge of Starrpathia’s mouth.

 

EZSTER: Good answer, szerelem. 

 

Ezster gentle caressed the Jattvian Prince’s cheek before turning away and walked towards the bathroom.  The way she acted, it seemed like she wanted Jatt’s scrotum to explode as they did with rats (as Dr. Ziga Orultudos showed him in a very graphic video of serum induced fornicating rodents).

 

EZSTER: I do not think it will work. This whole passaport concerns me.

JATT STARR (muttering): Bitch.

EZSTER: What was that?

JATT STARR: Be back in a pinch! I am going for a run.

EZSTER: Like that?

JATT STARR: Of course not!

 

As Ezster was putting on her StarrSek Industries collectible top, Jatt Starr put on red striped calf high socks and his Adidas runners.  He needed work off his mountjng sexual frustration.  He ran in place for a moment lifting his knees up as high as he could while looking at himself.

 

JATT STARR: When you got it, flaunt it.

 

The Jattlantic City Idol left his luxury Chicago apartment and strutted down the hallway.  As he pressed down button for the elevator, he took the moment to stretch.  He bent down forward just as the ever-so-religious Mrs. Mary McElroy turned the corner.  She let out an involuntary yelp which caused Jatt to turn around. 

 

JATT STARR: Hey, Mrs. McElroy.  Go with God, am I right?

MRS. McELROY: The indency! You-you-you-you—

JATT STARR: Are looking darn-tooting good? You bet!

MRS. McELROY: You aren’t wearing any clothes!

JATT STARR: I am hammocked up! I have socks on!

MRS. McELROY: You aren’t wearing any-any pants!

 

The blonde middle-aged neighbor with the horn rimmed glasses and Hekyll (or Jekyll)-like beak for a nose clutched her Coach bag as if he were going to snatch it and uncomfortably gawked and pointed towards the Sheriff of Jattingham’s crotchal region.

 

JATT STARR: Hey, eyes up here! I am not a piece of meat. What would Mister McElroy think about you lusting after your incredibly fit neighbor? He probably would not take too kindly to that. You do not see me ogling your boobage. It’s not like you have much to look at there anyway….

 

The Starrabian Knight leaned forward and craned his neck to check out Mrs. McElroy’s caboose.

 

JATT STARR: …but then again, helloooooo….

 

Jatt Starr gave her a seductive wink that came across like a bug flew into his eye. Mrs. McElroy could only stammer as the elevator doors opened.  The Saviour of Starrkham entered the elevator.

 

JATT STARR: Are you coming? In the elevator, I mean. Not that….other way….

 

Mrs. McElroy disgustedly shook her head as if she were a toddler being asked to eat her cauliflower.

 

JATT STARR: Suit yourself.

 

Jatt Starr pushed the first floor button and the doors closed. 

 

JATT STARR (singing): I am Lorde…YA YA YOW!!!  FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIDLESTICKS!

 

The Starrson City Icon’s left arm spasmed and struck the elevator wall with his elbow. While the serum regenerated his previously injured muscles and bones it did not make him impervious to pain. And pain with the intensity of a hundred suns and a thousand Robert Patricks shot down his arm.  Funny bone his Jattastic ass.  He wasn’t laughing.

It didn’t take much to trigger Jatt Starr’s anger. It infuriated him when Ezster became (intentionally or unintentionally) a cocktease. It infuriated him watching that Arby’s commercial for the ninety-seventh time. It infuriated him that he had to cut red meat from diet because some rats on the serum experienced cardiac events and elevated cholestetol levels.  It infuriated him knowing that as great as he felt, as tip-top condition as he might be in, “War Games”, the FINAL “War Games” could be another galaxial disappointment in his career.

One single moment that would have everyone talking…That’s what he wanted. All he wanted.

The elevator doors opened and Jatt Starr power walked towards the stairwell. He was singleminded in purpose. It would be safe to say, he had tunnel vision.  If there were any hotties or uggos lounging about on the main floor staring at his newly minted perfect body, he did not notice.

The Jatti Master violently shoved the door open and charged up the stairs.

Twelve floors.

That was his goal.

He got winded after two and a half.

Let it not be said that at the first inkling of adversity that the Rembrandt of Wrestling gives up.

No, he motivates himself.

He climbed those stairs. 

The thought that kept him going was “War Games”.

He would not be denied his moment.

First, he needed to outlast the losers…..

“The Sasquatch” Bobbinette Carey.

“Completely Useless” Lexi Gold.

“Son of Gooberstein” Zach Kostoff.

“MMFopdoodle” Noah Hanson.

“The Human Penis” Scott Stevens.

“Wee Baby Bitch Boy” Brian Hollywood.

“The Personification of Ejaculation” Drew Mitchell.

and, of course…..

Darin Zion. A man unworthy of a creatively thought nickname. He was even unworthy of an uncreative nickname. A was barely worth a single thought.  However, getting eliminated by that annoying little pissant would be downright mortifying. 

It was when he reached the sixth floor the HOW Classic concocted a scheme wherein should Darin Zion eliminate the Ruler of Jattlantis, it must mean he had been beaten into a coma like state, therefore, he would need to make sure that mad doctor had another dose of that serum so he could awaken just so he could have the privilege of maiming that little douchebag.

But those were just names of people on the roster currently. What if Lee had other plans in motion? What surprises would the G-O-D of H-O-W have in store?  The shocking return of Mark O’Neal? Darkwing? Professor Keller? Chico? The resurrection of Max Kael???

No matter what, having his “War Games” moment pilfer by any one of those aforementioned clodhoppers would be more devastating than the Hindenburg, the cancellation of “Carnivale”, and the Joe Judge era of the New York Giants combined.

As his legs weebled and wobbled heading towards the eighth floor, the Sultan of SeaJattle began pondering the possibility of taking a break. His hair was dripping sweat into his eyes. His throat was drier than sandpaper in the Sahara. He could feel a throbbing in his head begin to form. He needed to catch his breath. He wanted a break.  He needed a break.

Did Christopher America take a break during any of his three, THREE “War Games” victories?

Probably not.

Unless he laid motionless hoping the other competitors knocked each other out and in the final moments, when one member of the opposing team was left standing, swooped in and picked apart the living carcass that was left.

A sound strategy to be sure, but not sustainable for a two time HOW Hall of Fame like Jatt Starr.

If the “War Games” combatants were smart, they would pool all of their energy and resources in eliminating the biggest threat, the ONLY man to win THREE “War Games” matches.

But they weren’t smart, were they? Every combatant in the match was dumber than a sack of soggy potatoes. Their egos would inevitably get in the way of whatever limited smarts they had. It wasn’t like anyone not named Evan Ward or Mike Best would walk out the World Champion! 

Eliminate the threats. Christopher America. Mike Best. Evan Ward (let’s have a repeat of last “War Games”, please and thank you).

Even with his newly regenerated body, he could not do it all by himself. It needed all of them coming together for a common goal for it to work.

It would take a miracle for that to happen. 

The stupidity of the Bobbinette Careys and the Brian Hollywoods and the Noah Hansons of the HOW motivated Jatt Starr to push forward. If they were just going to allow someone like Mike Best or Sektor to saunter off with the victory, then Fuck’em. 

For Jatt Starr, this was less about being World Champion and more about impacting the HOW as a whole.  Eliminating Mike Best might not prevent the younger Best from leaving World Champion, but it would leave a small dent in Mikey’s overinflated ego. 

And if the Jattinum Standard could make Sektor tab out this extinguishing the Gold Standard’s dreams of winning “War Games*? Well, that would just prove who carried StarrSek Industries. It would undeniably answer the question, in the end, who was better….

Making that skeevy son of a whore tap out in the biggest match in HOW history would most definitely be a moment people would talk about. 

It was that last thought that inspired him to push forward those last four flights of stairs.

It would be the grand finale of “Go Fuck Yourself’s”.

When the Baron of Boca Jatton reached the twelfth floor, he felt a sense of pride and accomplishment.

 

And promptly vomited on the floor.  He should not have eaten a kale, tomato, and mushroom egg white omelet with orange juice for breakfast. It would have been so bad except he had another spasm striking his left elbow against the metal stairway railing causing him to shriek girlishly.

The Champion of Jattanooga, feeling a little less like a“Starrmenian Stud”, finally made it back to his apartment. His entire body felt as cramped as a clown car.  He walked (although staggered might have been a more accurate term) through the door to find Ezster typing on her laptop.  He could have asked what she was doing but he did not have the energy.

Instead, Jatt Starr blurted all he could muster….

 

JATT STARR: Pack up…you…are….going. We will work….out….the details…

EZSTER: Okay.

 

The Hero of Jattlanta nodded his head, smiled, and crumpled onto the floor.  Before passing out, one thought popped into his head….

A thought that would stick with him over the next several days…..

When it comes to “War Games”……

 

….for the Ruler of Jattlantis….

 

….there would be no tomorrow.