Jack Harmen, better known to the wrestling world these days as High Flyer, sits in his comfortable maroon brown recliner. He takes a puff from his corn cobb pipe, while wearing a very much old man tweed style suit jacket. He licks the tips of his fingers, and swats one side of the newspaper he’s reading to the other side.
Yes, he’s reading a newspaper.
Suddenly, there’s a bright flash of light, and just off screen, we hear the voice of Brenton Cross!
Or at least a facsimile.
Fake Brenton Cross: High Flyer! Come with me to the future! We must save HOW from Outer Space Penguins from Miami!
Harmen gets up from his chair and walks over.
High Flyer: There there. Shut up.
We hear one of those large metal doors creak shut. Another flash of light, and Brenton Cross is gone.
Jack goes back to sitting in his chair. He re-opens his newspaper.
A large CRASH as the front door opens. Standing there surrounded by two men in three piece black suits is GEORGE BUSH SENIOR?!
Oh, it’s another fake. Good fake, but still, a fake.
Fake George Bush Sr.: Uh Uh. You gotta run for President. We have to kill Iraq.
He makes an elongated “falling” noise as a bomb plummets and eventually explodes.
Harmen closes one eye, squints at George with the other. His nose flaring wildly. After a sigh, he goes back to his newspaper and flips to the next page.
High Flyer: Nah. Ooo. The Dow is up. Interesting… What is the Dow.
Bush Senior tries to speak up, but the secret service agents just pull him out.
Harmen flicks the newspaper to the next section. Just as he eases back into reading, he suddenly hears the theme song to SHAFT. Strutting through the opened front door is an impersonator or Richard Roundtree, surrounded by two beautiful buxom brown ladies. The ladies sing in the standard theme song refrain.
High Flyer: Shaft! What are you doing here at my cracka ass punk house?
Fake Richard Roundtree: Weeeelllll… I’mma need you to smack the fillin’s outta a certain Black Mamba in a HOW wrestling ring.
High Flyer: REALLY?! Anything for you Shaft!
Jack rushes in for a hug, and then looks to lean in for a kiss until the Richard Roundtree impersonator gives him the dirtiest look ever. Harmen backs away.
High Flyer: No homo Shaft. Just… I love violence so much you know, and — t-thank you Shaft, for all that you’ve done. For providing an avenue to me to pursue doing what I love, killing people without going to jail. Oooh! I gotta go find the Ouiji board and tell my mom and dad!
Harmen quickly rushes upstairs to find his no doubt dust covered Ouiji board, to séance with his dead parents. The fake Richard Roundtree looks on, smiling.
MULTIPLE BURSTS OF STATIC Interlaced with the HOW97 logo. FADE IN: Jack Harmen stands in front of a red brick wall. He stands perfectly still, deep in serious thought, not even looking directly at the camera. He sighs, before looking up to address the HOW audience.
High Flyer: This weekend, I do to Black Mamba what I did to Conor Fuse. I show, once again, why I am one of the deadliest, ruthless MONSTERS this sport has ever seen. This time, I rain my wrath of terror in the ring, snapping limbs and indulging in the echoes of the crack and breaks, like a London Philharmonic symphony of lost hopes and dreams. I get to look down and see the blood curdling screams, revel in the joy of another’s pain and anguish, bathe in the euphoria of it all. I get to say Black Mamba, your name is stupid, but the biggest mistake you made was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The camera cuts close to an extreme close up, just on the eyes. The inner lids widen and fill, diluting like a drug addict.
High Flyer: Saturday, I kill a man.
Flyer cracks his neck once.
High Flyer: Try and stop me.
Flyer walks off frame, leaving on the ol’ 97 red colored brick wall. We hear Flyer’s yells echo as he walks away.
High Flyer (O.S.): I don’t care if that would change my defense! Not now! Now we gotta remember to edit this later in post. THANKS FOR NOTHING MARY.