More like a rough month.
Some people refer to bad luck as a dark cloud lingering over one’s head. But to me, it’s a debilitating plague. A plague that the longer it afflicts you, the worse it gets.
Right now, I am afflicted.
Not being offered the sponsorship at “Rumble at the Rock”.
Lee Best, the man I would follow into hell for, disbands the Best Alliance and disappears leaving me out in the cold like some unwanted shoe!
Getting beat by Conor Fuse thus ending my opportunity at once again becoming the HOW World Champion.
Even worse, I lost thousands of dollars on my “Undefeated Against Conor Fuse” t-shirts with that loss. Devastating.
My attempt at getting that “Rumble at the Rock” via a negotiation with ReeseMart has stalled like a 1972 Ford Pinto. That Santa’s Elf looking weasel took his contract and has since ghosted me and my team. No response to texts, e-mails, or phone calls. That little shit is ducking me.
And then there’s Alea….
I told you about her, right? Anyway, there we were, laying in bed, she was caressing the scar on my cheek with “Stumpelina”, that’s my little pet name for her stump. Excuse me, amputated limb. Oh, the things she would do with “Stumpelina”…..Anyway, that night, she was caressing my cheek. There was just something soothing about it, the smoothness against my skin.
And then I did….
I blurted it out….
Maybe it was just the way she was looking at me. Maybe it was because of the fact that “True” by the Spandex Ballet was playing. I don’t know, but there I was looking into her eyes and I just blurted it out…..
“I love you.”
Yeah, the Jattlantic City Idol was a real Rico Suave there.
The words hung…hanged, no….hung in the air like a fart. The warm, caring, loving look shifted to the non-verbal equivalent of “Oh shit”.
There I was, my heart beating so fast it was like a freaking machine gun going off in my chest waiting for her to say something, anything in response. She was my lover, my sponsor. She saw me at most vulnerable. And do you know what she said to me?
Yeah, a really long “Oh” followed by some mularkey about how being, what is called? Poly-something. Phosphorus? Amorous! That’s it. It turns out, she has six other guys she’s banging. And she’s rattling off names like she was reading them off of a grocery list: Todd in Scottsdale, Raheem in L.A., Andy from Providence, Eugene in Des Fucking Moines, of all places…and then, to be honest, after Eugene, I just tuned it right out. Who wants to hear that, am I right? She doesn’t like to get tied down to one person, she says. She has to “live her truth”. Her “inner self” is her higher power and to “imprison her” with a “mononuclear” relationship would do more harm to her than good. Apparently, her “freedom” is tied to maintaining her sobriety.
What a crock of poppycock.
After some back and forth, it was mutually decided to end things. By mutually decided, I mean we both agree that she dumped me.
Yeah. She dumped me, both as a friend with benefits and as a sponsor. She tells me it was a mistake to get involved with someone in the program. After she gets dressed and puts on her prosthetic arm she has the absolute gall to give me a copy of her book and tells me she hopes I find inspiration in it and tells me to “work the program” and then POUF! she disappears like Houdini.
So, now, my sponsor is her brother, flipping moron number one, Wabid Wabbit. Can you believe that my sobriety might hinge on some dude that where’s an Easter Bunny mask and sounds like Elmer Fudd when he gets nervous (which is more often than not)?
Good natured guy and all of that but I’ve known the guy for months and I still don’t know what the hell he looks like.
So, yeah, I was at the end of tether Saturday night. I have Gepetto Junior and his “people” dodging my calls and Sektor offering me a pity LSD Title shot?
Of course I said yes. That prick rode my coattails until he felt it was time stab me in the back and he left me out there at “War Games” to get crippled. And there’s been no remorse for it.
I think the Ruler of Jattlantis has a right to be a little miffed!
It’s a plague.
I am sick and tired of people using me and then discarding me like a damp, snotty tissue during cold and flu season.
I don’t see another option. I’m open to ideas, though. But right now, I have a new “higher power”….to prove to the world that the Jattinum Standard is superior to the Gold Standard. I am so sick and fucking tired of hearing him prattle on about how he’s the “greatest technical wrestler in the world”. If that were the case he wouldn’t have gotten his coked out ass pinned and cost StarrSek Industries the Tag Team Championship.
And you know what? I know he knows that I am better than him in every way imaginable. I’m better looking. I’m clearly in better shape. My diet is impeccable. But knowing? It’s not enough. The world has to see what I know….and what he knows. I have to really stick it to that smug, moustached bastard.
It has to start with “High Flyer” Jack Hardon.
You saw ICONIC, didn’t you?
While I was getting impaled by a fucking hook on a motherfucking SCAFFOLD, Sektor was playing sand castles in a little sandbox with High Flyer. It was a joke. How long did that much go on for? Twelve? Fifteen minutes? It certainly wasn’t less than twelve. If the King of Jatten Island can defeat that goofy turd in less than twelve minutes this week on “Refueled”, that would just be another example of my clear superiority over ole Johnny Boy.
I know, I know! That’s sooooooooo Max Kael circa two thousand-what? Six? Seven? But hey, what better way to celebrate the almost one year anniversary of the murder of one HOW’s finest than to pay homage to his dedication to one upmanship to the Saviour of Starrkham than to metaphorically shove Sektor’s stupid face in a pile of metaphorical shit of his own making by eclipsing him little by little.
This week it’s High Flyer.
Maybe next week, Brian Hollywood and the TV Title.
And you know what? I kinda feel bad for High Flyer. In any other circumstance he would be more than just some example I am setting for Sektor….but Saturday he will just be collateral damage for the cause. Provided I beat him in under twelve minutes, which, let’s face it, is a foregone conclusion. Sucks for him, tough. You and I both know that any other week, I wouldn’t give two poops about him….but them’s the breaks, as they say.
You’re being awfully silent. I mean, come on now….
Are you even listening to me???
::::SCENE: Jatt Starr, who has been laying on a plush black leather couch turns to the person to whom he was speaking. The Marquis of MadagaStarr is sporting a more casual look this evening: Black and plaid dress pants, red Adidas sneakers with black stripes, and a purple “Murder, She Wrote” t-shirt featuring Jessica Fletcher (superbly played by Angela Lansbury). Sitting behind a desk across from him, wearing what Jatt Starr theorizes is an extremely pricey purple suit with a gold dress shirt, is Jatt Starr’s brother from a different mother, his only true friend in the world, Mario Maurako. The Marvelous One looks up from something in his drawer, something incriminating by the speed of which he closes said drawer and acts as if he has been staring at his laptop intently the whole time. He looks from the screen to see Jatt Starr looking at him, expectantly.::::
JATT STARR: Well?
MARIO: I’m listening.
JATT STARR: Do you have any advice for me or am I wasting my time?
::::Mario looks back and forth from Jatt Starr to his computer screen to the drawer. The Ruler of Jattlantis lets out an exasperated sigh as he moves from the laying down position to sitting up. His face does not hide his impatience or disappointment.::::
JATT STARR: I was better off talking to that useless piece of human waste, Anton.
MARIO: Wait! Hold up! Look…..
::::Mario turns his attention towards his former “Starrvivor: Maurako” partner.::::
MARIO: Jatt, this whole thing with Sektor, I get it. He’s always been sort of trashy in a masculine sort of way. Kind of like a male stripper who comes out dressed like a biker with some ridiculous name like Gears Wrench-Pipe or Bobby “Nuts” Carey. The thing is, he disrespected you and obviously you want to pay back in kind.
JATT STARR: Damn right I do!
MARIO: But, you gotta beat High Flyer. It doesn’t matter how long it takes.
JATT STARR: Yes it does.
MARIO: No it doesn’t.
JATT STARR: Um, yeah….it does.
MARIO: Man to man here…..is your neck one hundred percent healed?
JATT STARR: No, I suppose not.
MARIO: Was Sektor at a hundred percent when he beat High Flyer?
JATT STARR: Physically? Yeah.
::::Mario claps his hands together and then puts them up in the air with a look that says “Voila” as if he had just made the Statue of Liberty disappear. The Earl of GlouStarr shakes his head for a moment until the light bulb goes, the epiphany has been realized, the fog has been lifted.::::
JATT STARR: I get it. I have to try to break High Flyer’s neck before the match thereby causing a forfeit which automatically makes the Jatti Master victorious in the quickest time possible. Now, do I have to do it? Or can I contract out? Do you know anyone with “connections”?
MARIO: My connections to the underworld Dungeons and Dragons and Feminist Cosplay societies are irrelevant here.
JATT STARR: I meant the mob. What are you talking about?
MARIO: I didn’t say nothin’. And you didn’t hear nothin’.
::::Jatt Starr looks at Mario suspiciously as if he were a middle aged man sitting on a park bench wearing a trenchcoat asking him if he should “Free Willy”.::::
MARIO: The mob? There is no mob. Only a line of families conducting legitimate businesses of which I have no affiliation. What I am trying to tell you is, you don’t need to resort to some bullshit tactics. You’re Jatt Freaking Starr.
JATT STARR: Right. So, if I am hearing you correctly, what you are saying is that Sektor beating High Flyer means jack and shit. But the Starrcelona Icon beating High Flyer with an injured neck alone, less than twelve minutes or not, is enough of an accomplishment to rub in that arrogant scumbag’s face, right?
MARIO: Correctamundo, grasshopper.
:::Jatt Starr nods, pondering this. Yes, a Jatt Starr at eighty-five to ninety percent conquering the goofball antics and inferior talent of High Flyer is not something to sneeze at. It adds a whole new layer of bragging rights. Yes, Sektor, you beat High Flyer whilst operating at full capacity whereas I, the Baron of Boca Jatton, defeated him in less than peak physical form. The victory would inevitably prove that a slightly injured Jatt Starr is better than a healthy Sektor. Brilliant. Jatt Starr knows it is moments like this that show why Mario is the better friend than Sektor. No drug addictions. No heavy drinking. No weird moments of opening up a hotel room door in drag. Of course, there is the issue of Mario being distracted while the Duke of Jattmandu was pouring his heart out to him.::::
JATT STARR: What’s in the drawer?
MARIO: Nothing important.
JATT STARR: Oh yeah? It seems like while I was expressing my feelings, I may not have had your full attention.
MARIO: I was waiting for WhosYourFamousCelebrityAncestor.net. There’s a chance that I could be related to Susan B. Anthony. Can you just imagine?
JATT STARR: Oh please, if that’s even remotely true, it’d be so far removed by now, Honey Boo Boo would be a closer relative.
MARIO: What’s a “Honey Boo Boo”?
JATT STARR: Never mind. Just—Can you please tell me what’s in the drawer?
::::The Starrabian Knight looks at Mario, almost pleadingly, like a puppy — but not a chihuahua, those are just barking rats —- maybe a pug — looking at it’s owner who has box of peanut butter Milk Bones in their hand.::::
MARIO: Ah, hell. Fine. But, please don’t judge me. My artistic abilities are not quite where they need to be.
::::Mario opens the drawer and pulls out a legal pad and hands it to Jatt Starr. On the top page there is a drawing of two stick figures. The smiling stick figure has some rather large knockers and is apparently banging a bald bearded stick figure with an “O” for a mouth who is on all fours.::::
JATT STARR: What is this supposed to be?
MARIO: Bobbinette Carey fucking Scottywood with a large strap on.
::::The Champion of Jattanooga cannot help but burst out laughing. The shocked(?) expression on stick figure Scottywood, there’s something about it that tickles Jatt Starr’s funny bone. He tosses the pad back to Mario who catches it. A good laugh, a genuine laugh….something he has not done in days. Mario, a true friend of Jattlantis.::::
JATT STARR: I needed that, man.
MARIO: Hey, look, your one armed chick, she wasn’t what you needed. She was a gym teacher—
JATT STARR: Fitness instructor.
MARIO: —who made it big selling a self-help book who got you to eat right, exercise, provide some stability in your life….actually, she was exactly who you needed. Man, if she wasn’t a skank, she’d be your dream girl.
JATT STARR: That’s what I’m saying! I did everything right! I was going to commit!
MARIO: Look, tell you what we’re going to do. There’s this coffee shop near here that’s going to be hosting some local feminist poets tonight, maybe you meet someone there? Granted, most of them will be lesbians, but you might luck out finding an attractive to semi-attractive bi-girl…or bi-lady. OR maybe that hot bald lady who identifies as a male but digs dudes. He’s the barista.
JATT STARR: Baristas are women. I think you mean she, er, he is a “barrister”.
MARIO: Either way, you in?
JATT STARR: Why not? I need to break this string of bad luck somehow.
MARIO: Hot damn!
::::The Grand Overlord of Jatturn smiles at Mario and nods. Things are starting to look up. Jatt Starr thinks to himself “When you’re down, you know who your true friends are, especially when you’re not giving them a paycheck.” Reconnecting with Mario is the shot in the arm he needed, especially now. Tonight, assuming the coffee bar does not sell smoothies, he will have a mocha latte (what the hell, he can afford to have a cheat day), listen to some lame ass poetry, suck up to the women in the attendance, and maybe he gets lucky tonight.
But if he strikes out, it’s back to the gym, it’s back to watching High Flyer matches with the peanut gallery, it’s back to an AA meeting, and back to mapping out a solid strategy for “Refueled” and wait until Saturday night to change his fortune.
Tonight, he will do something he hasn’t done since before “War Games”.
Have a fun night out with a real friend.