War Never Changes

War Never Changes

Posted on June 10, 2024 at 11:24 pm by Jatt Starr

The bedroom of Casa de Sparrow.  Jatt Starr had a large suitcase laying on the kingsized bed.  He tossed a couple of pair socks, underwear, and some clothes into the suitcase before entering his walk-in closet.  He stared momentarily at the garment bag hanging between his “Murder, She Wrote” and “Back to the Future” t-shirts.  He did not think he would ever use it’s contents ever again.  The Sovereign of Starrgentina grabbed the bag and laid it on the bed.  He unzipped it and opened it up.

On top was his 97Red and black checkered suit.  He carefully folded and placed it into the suitcase.  He looked down again.  A black baseball jersey with the words “Jatt Starr” in yellow lettering on the front and “The Ruler of Jattlantis” on the back.  The last of his five “Jatt Starr” jerseys.  He had not worn that particular jersey since 2004.  It was the jersey he wore when he won the Tournament of Champions and captured his first HOW Championship.  It held some incredible sentimental value for the Hero of Jattlanta.   He wondered if it still fit.  He picked it up and smirked as he held it up.   The Jattinum Standard carefully folded it and placed it on top of his suit.

For a moment he considered digging out his 97Red “Jatt Starr” jersey that read “The Sultan of SeaJattle” on the back with silver lettering.  It might be more aesthetically in line with his suit.  But then again, it was in a box at the bottom of the closet with other knick-knacks and paddywhacks from his career including the second “UAD Championship”, the one he had fashioned from stainless steel.  

Ah, the memories.  Jatt Starr was the face of the Golden Era of the HOW.  If Lee was a god, then he was, by all rights, the King of the HOW.  Before the likes of Max Kael and Mike Best usurped that position from him. 

Not that he was bitter about it.  He had a nice career.  World Championships, ICON Championships, LSD Championships, ending his career as the PWA Co-World Champion, It was a career that he could look back and be proud of after ICONIC.

Or, at least that was what he thought.

That was naive malarkey.

Another opportunity presented itself to the Jattlantic City Idol.  

War Games.

Potentially the last ever War Games.

And if it was destined to be the final War Games, what kind of War Games would it be without someone representing the very first War Games match?  It wasn’t like Mark O’Neal or Stryker were going to crawl out from whatever rock they were living under to show up and Kostoff was not about to get resurrected for the eighty thousandth time.  And if Kostoff’s zombified corpse showed up, would Lee dig up Barbi Kostoff’s grave, grab her skull, and shove his flaccid noodle into her mouth.  After all, it was that very first War Games where Lee pronounced that his dingly-dangs bounced off her mandible. 

Sick bastard.

But that was over twenty years ago.  Jatt Starr was no longer the young, athletic ring technician that he was.  Besides the memories, all he had to remind himself of his illustrious career was the pain.  The constant pain in his neck, the debilitating headaches, the back pain, the soreness in his right shoulder and elbow, the discomfort in his left knee, the slight ache in his chest.   It was safe to say he was not in tip-top condition.  

But as poorly as he felt, the Duke of Jattmandu knew one thing…..he had one more match in him.  One last opportunity to have a grand Jatt Starr moment in the squared circle.

One thing that was NOT going to happen was the Jattvian Prince getting thrown off the top of the cage and leaving the match on a stretcher.  And Dan Ryan was not going to attempt to cripple him again.  And fuck Sektor. 

That walking midlife crisis was a massive fucking douchenozzle and there was no was in hell that the Starrabian Knight would allow—–

The Baron of Boca Jatton suddenly felt an intense, tortuous shot to the right side of his head…..


And then…..






Jatt Starr finally came to.  His mind was in a fog. The sight of the fluorescent lights and the brown water stained ceiling was unfamiliar. Through the fog and disorientation he was suffering from, he knew one inescapable fact: He could not feel anything.

There was a numbness throughout his body.  The Champion of Jattanooga attempted to speak but all he could get out was a dry, incoherent mumble.  He could sense the panic come over him, but his body was not exhibiting the usual signs of panic – no increased heart rate, no butterflies or pain in his stomach, no struggle breathing.


Was he breathing?

Was he dead?

Was this purgatory?  Was he destined to stare at a dingy ceiling for all eternity?

Jatt Starr tried to call out for help but all he could hear was a groan.  At least his ears worked.

How long had he been out?  Days? Weeks? Months? Did he miss War Games? Did Noah Hanson win War Games? Darin Zion? Or worse, Sektor?  Did anyone notice the HOW Classic did not show? Did anyone even care?

The Grand Overlord of Jatturn has many questions including the one at the forefront of his mind: What the actual frick was going on????

Perhaps the sound of an unfamiliar voice would answer the question.  It was was male, it was deep and it was gravelly.  There was a hint of a European accent.  Or Asian.  Or Antartican (not that the Saviour of Starrkham knew what an Antartican sounded like.  For all he knew they were a bunch of penguin-human mutants caused by generations of crossbreeding).  It almost sounded as if he hailed from everywhere and nowhere all at once.


VOICE: You are avake. Zhat isht good. I am Doctor Ziga Orultudos.


The Ruler of Jattlantis saw the blinding illuminated end of a penlight as the figure checked the left eye followed by the right.

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: You have qvestionsh, yesh? Be holdink shtill. Zis vill be, ash zhey say, qvicker zhan zhe cookie crumplesh.


Whilst the Rembrandt of Wrestling, Jatt Starr, could not see the doctor, he did see the rather large syringe that was in his hand partially filled with a bright yellow liquid that the Jatti Master hoped was not animal urine.

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: I varn you. Zhis vill be extremely painful.


At first, the Professor of Sparrowdynamics felt nothing.  Then, he felt like his entire head was doused in gasoline and lit on fire.  Normally, he would let out an agonizing scream that would awaken the dead.  As the tears welled up in his eyes, all that came out of his mouth was whimper.  A long, high pitched whimper.

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: It vill be over shoon.


The pain intensified. If Jatt Starr could stop, drop, and roll, he would out of pure instinct. He would try anything to end the torment. Instead, all he could do was suffer until it got so great, he passed out.


Which it did and he did.




He could hear voices. Dr. Orultudos and another, a woman. Her voice was familiar. Almost girlish. The King of Grapple from the Big Apple could not make out what they were saying. It was gibberish. Or another language. His mind was still on a bit of a fog as his eyes opened and adjusted to the light blue lights situated directly above him.  He tried to move his arms and legs but, alas, could not. The feeling of paralysis was still there. He did manage to clear his throat and groggily asked a question.


JATT STARR: What in Ichabod Crane is going on?


Dr. Orultudos and the unknown woman had a brief exchange before the sound of heels echoed farther away from him followed by a large door opening and closing.


JATT STARR: What is—-

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: Shh-Shh-Shhhhh. Shave strength, Meeshter Shtarr. I vill explain.

JATT STARR: I do not under—

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: Shh-Shh-Shhhhh. No. No shpeakink. I already shaid, I, no, ve vill explain. She vanted to be here. She vill be back.

JATT STARR: Why are—

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: You no take the direction very vell, do you? I had vorker that did no take direction very vell. He no longer vorks for me. He no longer vorksh for anyvun. I amputate his limbsh and remove vocal cord.  You are very lucky man, Jatt Shtarr-Shemen Shparrow, you vill not share fate with that-that nogoodnik. You get privilege of beink firsht man to…I should vait. 

JATT STARR: First man to—-  



Jatt Starr had begun to worry.  What did this maniac have planned for the Ruler of Jattlantis? More torment? Who was he waiting for? What day was it? Was he hired by someone to prevent the Rembrandt of Wrestling from competing at War Games? If so, then who? It was a woman. Lexi Gold? Bobbinette Carey? No, they were intellectually inept to pull something like this off.  Maybe it was one of Sektor’s trollops.  No.  He knew who was behind this.  The only woman devious and diabolical enough to concoct such a scheme. Sunny O’Callahan. That filthy sex whore despised Jatt Starr ever since he “powned” Joe Bergman a year or so ago. It was definitely her.  The Hero of Jattlanta vowed to punch that skank on the vagina the first chance he got….assuming he survived this ordeal.

The door opened and the sound of heels hitting the floor once again echoed throughout the room.  Jatt Starr heard the clearly insane doctor and the woman (probably Sunny) whispering to one another.  The woman’s footsteps grew closer.  He struggled to move, he could not.  The woman’s face appeared in front of him.  She smiled a perfect braces filled smile.  The scars around her lips were still visible.  Her normally light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail.  Ezster leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.  Jatt’s eyes darted back and forth as if he were speedreading a book he did not understand (probably mathematical theory or something by L. Ron Hubbard). The Jattvian Prince was desperately trying to put the pieces together.  Why was Ezster here?  Was she behind it?  Why?  He was nothing but nice and respectful to her and she betrayed him, had him paralyzed and tortured!  That malignant bitch!  He would be angry if he weren’t so….confused…..


EZSTER: Hey baby. I’m sorry. It was not supposed to go like this.

JATT STARR: What-what are you doing?

EZSTER: My uncle was supposed to wait—

JATT STARR: Lunatic quack is your uncle?

EZSTER: Uncle Ziga is not lunatic. He is unconventional scientist. 


EZSTER: He was supposed to wait until I talked to you. 

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: He deserve to get head cracked like Humpty Dumpty.  He should have remove shtitchesh from mouth shooner! But Meester Shtarr, you shave my niece from terrible fate.  You are hero.

JATT STARR: You have a very peculiar way of showing it.

EZSTER: You make solemn promise to me. You say retire back in January. You say after you retire, you take stitches out and we be happily ever after.  But it was no fairy tale ending. Always with the grunting when getting up from chair.  

JATT STARR: My body has taken a beating over the last two decades.

EZSTER: You hurt.  And you can barely satisfy me as a man.

JATT STARR: I told you, I cannot get in the mood after “The Golden Girls”.


If Jatt Starr had any moisture in his mouth, he would have spat in Ezster’s face.  Instead, all he could do was lay there (assuming that his head was still attached to his body, for all he knew, he was just a head in a jar).


EZSTER: I am not complaining.  I am just, ah, how do you say “telling it like it is”…

JATT STARR: “Telling it like it is”.


Ezster cracked the slightest of smiles as Jatt Starr hoped he could charm himself out of this predicament.


EZSTER: Joke is getting old.

JATT STARR: And yet, you cannot help but fight back a smile.

EZSTER:  You are very important to me. I just wish I was as important to you.

JATT STARR:  You are important to me.  Where are you getting this from?  Is it that Dave who keeps texting you? Is he filling your head with this poppycock?

EZSTER: You are going back to that Lee.  You are killing yourself for that-that—


EZSTER: Fucking Asshole Bitch!

JATT STARR: It’s War Games, baby. Lee has nothing to do with my decision.

EZSTER:  He does. You cannot lie to me. Lee is factor.  Lee and your ego.  You like the attention.  You love it.  You crave it. You miss the lifestyle. It is addiction to you.  

JATT STARR: So? I admit it. There are worse things to be addicted to. I have not cheated on you. I have not gotten inebriated, not once.  I do not do drugs, you do not have to concern yourself with the  Rembrandt of Wrestling giving “handies” in a back alley somewhere to score a dimebag.  In fact how dare—-


The Sultan of SeaJattle started coughing.  At least he knew he still had lungs.


JATT STARR:  Can-can I get some water, please?


The not-so-good doctor handed Ezster a bottle.  Jatt Starr heard the satisfying click of the top separating and Ezster poured a little down the Jattvian Prince’s gullet. For a brief moment Jatt thought she would dump all it’s contents in his mouth in an effort to drown him.  Drowning from a bottle of water.  The only death more embarrassing would be dying dropping a massive deuce in a dingy, backwater gas station restroom.


JATT STARR: Thank you.

EZSTER: Simon. My knight in the white satin. My hero.


The Jattlantic City Idol felt Ezster’s hand caressing his hair. The anger he had towards her just seconds ago melted away.  She was looking at him with honest, loving eyes.


EZSTER: I have one question. Can’t I be enough for you? Can’t I be your addiction?


Her amber eyes were wide, almost pleading for him to provide the answer she wanted to hear. Jatt Starr opened his mouth to tell her: “Yes, absolutely. You are my love and my life. Nothing else matters to me but you.”  And while a part of him did feel that way, it would ultimately be a lie. He could not deceive her like that, not when she looked at him like that.




There is no greater word in the English language that can crush the spirits and break the hearts of those that hear it than “no”.  Jatt Starr watched as Ezster’s eyes welled up with tears. She hoped for something that she should have known better than to hope for.  A tear fell from her eye onto the Jattinum Standard’s brow. Ezster left Jatt’s view. He could hear the sound of sniffing and snot before she reappeared.  Her eyes and nose red.  She forced a smile.


EZSTER: You will not survive War Games match.

JATT STARR: There is no need to be like that.

EZSTER: I cannot have of all of you. I understand. I am not pleased, but I understand. I have no choice. I will share you.

JATT STARR: Please tell me that does not translate to you and by you I mean your uncle severing my limbs and sending them to family members.

EZSTER: Of course not! That is disgusting! I will share you with your fans. I will share you with that squared ring. I will not share you with fucking asshole bitch and I will not share you for long.

JATT STARR: That sounds fair.


The Marquis of MadagaStarr had no idea what she was talking about. Best, considering his circumstance, to just agree with Ezster. She was either talking crazy or the fogginess in his head was clogging his ears so he cannot hear her. But she did say he was keeping his limbs, so that was a relief.


EZSTER: You are not in condition for War Games match. I worry you will come back to me broken man. Physically and emotionally.

JATT STARR: I am the Rembrandt of Wrestling. I have one more masterpiece in me. Or had until now….

EZSTER: I am giving you something special. You saved me, now I save you. Uncle Ziga has something that will make you feel ten, fifteen years younger.

JATT STARR: The Mayor of ManJattan does not take steroids.

EZSTER: Is not steroids.

JATT STARR: I do not use drugs either.

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: Ish sherum. It ish highly experimental. It vill regenerate damaged and degeneratink bonesh and muschlesh.  Vill no help your face though.

EZSTER: You want to win the War Games and say FUCK YOU to Mike Best and the Sektor. I want to give you best opportunity to win. It is my gift to you, szerelem.

JATT STARR: Is-Is it safe?

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: Ratsh did no complain.

JATT STARR: What do you mean….What did he mean when he said “rats”?

EZSTER: You are first human subject.

JATT STARR: Wait, what? You cannot forsee what sort of unwanted side effects this could have on me. How do I know I won’t defecate from my ears or something.

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: Ratsh no deshecrate from earsh. But you may experience occasional tvitchink and shpashminh. And keep hydrated. Ratsh had much sudden diarrhea. Very, uh, unpleashant diarrhea.

JATT STARR: I am not a rat. I do not believe I want to take this risk.

ZIGA ORULTUDOS: You vere already injected with sherum which is why you are immobilizhed. Do not vorry, in tventy-four-ish hoursh, you vill feel like young man. Virile and full of, ash they say, shpunk.


The Ruler of Jattlantis laid there, paralyzed from the neck down, unable to speak. The information came at him like a sledgehammer to the brain. Ezster, while her heart may have been in the right place, had plunked down his health and life into the hands of an unhinged charlatan. 


EZSTER: Szerelem.


Ezster stayed by his side, stroking Jatt Starr’s face and hair as he looked up at the lights. He admired her fealty to him. She adored him. She would not do anything to intentionally harm him. And what if this serum did work? What if he became stronger, faster, and, most importantly, pain free? What if this was the edge he needed to get back on top? 

But then again…..

What if all this serum did was make him shit himself constantly?

In the end, he had to believe it would work….

It needed to work…..


He had better invest in a lifetime supply of Depens.