BACKSTAGE at the Vito Genovese Center. DONITA ZAPATA, having been assaulted during a match once again by THE PHANTOM ROCKER, broods on a folding chair, just outside the locker room. STRUGGLE President NATE RUGGLE and head booker UNCLE ABDUL approach. RANDOM WORDS are CAPITALIZED, because I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that BEFORE on a picture of a movie SCRIPT, and I honestly don’t know HOW this WORKS.
NATE: Donita, Abdul and I have some concerns about-
DONITA: Go away, I don’t wanna talk about it.
NATE: Look, you have to understand, it’s my responsibility to-
DONITA: (angrily) It’s none of your fucking business, Nate.
NATE: (annoyed) Yeah, well that’s the thing, it keeps happening in my wrestling ring, during shows I’m promoting, involving my employees, so it is my business. Like literally the business which is mine.
DONITA: (just sort of frowns silently)
NATE: So really, you have to understand my position here, what I need to know is-
ABDUL: Seriously, Donita, what the fuck!?
NATE: Hey, I was going to get there!
ABDUL: Oh, for God’s sake, Nate, you need to learn to cut the bullshit and come right out and actually say what you want sometimes. It’s wrestling, goddammit, that business school shit ain’t gonna cut it no more.
DONITA: Uhhh, do I have to be here for this?
NATE: (frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose) Well, I was going to phrase things a bit more diplomatically, but, well… (sighs) Seriously though, yeah, what the fuck, Donita?
DONITA: (looking straight down, making eye contact with no one) Look, I don’t wanna talk about it! I’ll deal with this, so just leave me alone!
ABDUL: Yeah, and a real fine job you’ve done dealing with it, Miss Concussions McGee.
NATE and DONITA: (both confused, mouthing out words, not actually making a sound) “Concussions McGee?”
ABDUL: Eh, it sounded better in my head. But shit, y’all, I can’t keep having my wrestlers go down in goddamn ninja attacks from above, assailants all dropping down from the ceiling, like some kinda goddamn Glittery Batman! She came through the skylight this time! The hell am I gonna do when she accidentally kicks down a light that hits a fan? What if it’s raining outside? Wrestlers sliding around like idiots, ring canvases ruined, it’s a goddamn catastrophe!
NATE: And a legal liability.
ABDUL: Yeah, that too! Our asses could be on the line here, and we deserve to know what the hell is going on with you two!
DONITA: (sighing) Okay, fine, I’ll tell you, but just… Not here, okay?
NATE: Why not here?
DONITA: (Raises an eyebrow and cranes her neck, as if to look past NATE and ABDUL. There are at least six or seven wrestlers standing directly behind them, some literally tilting their heads like curious puppies)
NATE: …Oh, right, right.
ABDUL: Okay, let’s… Let’s take this to my office.
NATE: Wait, you have an office!? I don’t even have an office here!
ABDUL: (sighs) No, but it sounds a lot less slimy than saying “hey, let’s take our twenty-something female underling to the mop closet for some privacy.”
NATE: Oh… Oh God.
DONITA: Oh damn dude, yeah, good call on the office thing.
ABDUL: Yeah, I mean… You know…
NATE: …Problematic.
ABDUL: Yyyyeah. Welp, anyway. TO THE MOP CLOSET!
LATER, in the MOP CLOSET, NATE, ABDUL, and DONITA are just kind of STANDING AROUND, because it’s not a real office, and there’s no FURNITURE there.
NATE: Okay, let’s hear it.
DONITA: Well, it’s like… A really long story, and I’m going to have to go all the way the beginning. Way back, all the way back to an ancient time. 1995.
NATE: Wait, that’s an ancient time to you?
ABDUL: Welp, I’ll leave y’all to it, I gotta go find a hole to crawl into so I can go fart dust until I die.
DONITA: Just let me tell the damn story! As you two old-ass bastards probably remember, the early 1990s were a magical time.
ABDUL: Heh, truly magical, being named ‘Abdul’ in Bumfuck Tennessee during Operation Desert Storm…
NATE: I was mostly getting stuffed in lockers and being ignored by girls…
DONITA: (frowning) Goddammit, it was a magical time! They called it “The End of History,” as some truly believed we were entering a golden age of, like… peace and prosperity.
ABDUL: HA!
DONITA: (glares, at Abdul, and he immediately abandons whatever he was about to say) Seinfeld ruled the airwaves, The New England Patriots were still terrible, and there were still only three Star Wars movies. Again, a truly magical time.
ABDUL: (counting on fingers) …and the Rwandan Genocide, the Menendez Brothers, Rodney King…
DONITA: GODDAMMIT, IT WAS FUCKING MAGICAL! And… And it was all because of grunge.
NATE and ABDUL: Hahahahaha whaaaaaaat?
DONITA: I’m being serious, you guys! It… It is my creed….
NATE: Uhhh…
ABDUL: Eh, as an anarcho-syndicalist, I try to avoid creeds. No gods or masters for me. Or at least very few.
NATE: Do what now?
ABDUL: Never mind. So anyway, about this grunge…
DONITA: Okay, like, I know this weird to you guys, but just shut up and hear me out. For years, grunge music drove popular culture in this country, and everything was good, and before you say anything, SHUT UP. But then, in the spring of 1994, our prophet, Kurt Cobain, was murdered by his unfaithful wife, The False One.
NATE: Wait, I’ve literally seen you wrestle while dressed as Courtney Love! Like the dress and everything!
ABDUL: Yeah, it’s attire #3. (All three knowingly look directly into the camera for a second)
DONITA: No, it was Kat Bjelland from Babes in Toyland, you fucking Philistines! That evil bitch Courtney Love took from us the greatest man who ever lived!
ABDUL: Jesus.
DONITA: No, Kurt Cobain.
NATE: (whispering) Third base.
DONITA: Fuck’s sake, you guys…
NATE: I’ve seriously got to stop you there though, I’m pretty sure that was a suicide.
ABDUL: I dunno, call me crazy, but I never saw El Duce as a reliable source.
DONITA: (frowning) Seriously you guys, like, just let me tell the fucking story… But yeah, that event happened, and the world as we knew it fell apart. War, famine, economic collapse, the Internet, just awful shit everywhere. And worst of all, the complete collapse of music and the cultures that grew around it. People became vapid consumers, listening to whatever bullshit the corporations threw at them, like pop punk and pop rap and pop… pop. And worst of all? Nu-metal.
THE KORN DEMON: Aw jeez, I’m standin’ right here.
DONITA: NOT NOW, KORN DEMON!
NATE: Wait, how did you get in here?
THE KORN DEMON: The door was open, eh.
NATE: Then close it!
THE KORN DEMON closes the door and just kind of stares blankly at DONITA, NATE, and ABDUL
NATE: (eyes clenched shut, face all screwed up like he’s wrestling with some seriously deep inner pain and regret) …With you on then other side of the door.
THE KORN DEMON: Aw jeez, sorry, eh. (leaves)
DONITA: So aanyway, my forefathers decided that this new world wasn’t for them, so they sold most of their shit and headed off into the woods to start a new society, dedicated to the preservation of the Old Ways. They lived a simple life, weaving their own flannel and selling bootleg VHS tapes of Alice in Chains shows to tourists. And they made beautiful music in the old style, where the guitar solos were mostly amp feedback, and they sang in what were almost entirely R-controlled vowel sounds.
ABDUL: Do what now?
NATE: You know, that kinda “yarl” style all those grunge guys did, where they’d be all (extremely Layne Staley voice) “YAAAEERRRL”
DONITA: Yeah, that sounds about right, that kinda “YAAAEERRRRL” thing.
ABDUL: Ohhhhh, “YAAAEERRRRL”
NATE: YAAAEERRRRL
DONITA: YAAAEERRRRL
ABDUL: YAAAEERRRRL
(They all continue doing this for like a MINUTE AND A HALF it is honestly kind of DUMB)
DONITA: So, like, they lived in the woods, and they preserved their old way of life, and they were happy. And in this tightly-knit community, there were two young girls, Donita and her little sister, Lita.
THE KORN DEMON: (muffled, through the door) Wait, Donita was you, right?
NATE: GET AWAY FROM THE GODDAMN DOOR, KORN DEMON.
THE KORN DEMON: Aw jeez, sorry.
NATE: …AND THE REST OF YOU, TOO.
(Muffled sounds of disappointed mumbling are heard outside the door, including a weird, guttural grunt that could only be SCREAMING RAGE MAN)
DONITA: Again, there were these two little girls, and they lived in this commune with their mom and their dad. (brief, yet awkward pause) …And with their mom and dad’s “special friend,” Davíde.
NATE: Wait, whaaat?
DONITA: (sighs) Look, I know. It’s kinda weird to think about, and I don’t really wanna talk about it.
ABDUL: I get it, I mean, shit, there are few things I’ve ever wanted to know less than my folks’… uhhh… proclivities.
NATE: Seriously, I still like to think that my parents were smooth and featureless down there, like Ken and Barbie, and that I was just brought by a stork. And my brother was probably brought by the Devil or something.
ABDUL: Jesus.
NATE: No, Lucifer.
ABDUL: (whispering) Third base.
DONITA: Yeah, I dunno, it’s this whole thing, and it’s kind of an uncomfortable subject for me. (Quietly, as if thinking out loud and not realizing that other people were there) …Especially once I got older and realized just how much I looked like Davíde.
ABDUL: Holy shit.
DONITA: Dammit, can we get off this subject!?
ABDUL: I ain’t the one who put you on the subject, woman.
DONITA: (sighs) Okay, so yeah, two girls, parents, Davíde, they all live in this place and things were generally cool. But Lita, she was different. She was impulsive and impressionable, and she just never seemed to fit in. She was always questioning things, like she never fully bought into the cause. And as she got older, she grew more rebellious, like sometimes, she’d just kind of disappear, often for days at a time. So dad and Davíde, one day they followed her, all sneaky-like so she wouldn’t suspect anything, and that’s when they found it-
NATE: A moldy suitcase full of old porn?
DONITA: No! Well, uhh… Heh. Actually yeah, but that was about a mile away and unrelated.
NATE: Wow, it really does happen!
DONITA: Oh dude, you’d be surprised how much “educational material” you find when you’re pretty much living in the wilderness as a kid. But, uhh, anyway, it wasn’t a suitcase, it was a rusty old van. And sadly, it wasn’t full of porn. It was full of other things. Terrible things.
ABDUL: (barely stifling laughter) Really messed-up porn?
DONITA: (absolutely *glaring* at ABDUL, but not wanting to dignify him with a response) Things like… Body glitter. Spandex pants. Old copies of Metal Edge magazine. A whole case full of cassette tapes, just shit like (growing more disgusted with each item listed) Stryper, and Britny Fox, and fucking Poison. And an entire case of… (pauses and shudders) Aqua Net Pink hair spray.
NATE: (absolutely oozing sarcasm, barely able to not crack up completely) You must have been… Devastated.
DONITA: (somehow not noticing NATE’s tone, or that he actually started laughing halfway through the word “devastated”) We all were. It was like a rejection of everything we valued, man, just a shrine to everything we fought against, everything that was, like… Unholy. So we did the only thing we could do. We torched the van and everything in it, and Dad forbade her to ever speak of the things she had seen there. It was… Well, honestly, it was kinda fucked up, but we did what was necessary.
ABDUL: (nodding) Sometimes, you just gotta light up some poodle-hair’s abandoned bang-bus. (at the deadpan-ass delivery of this line, NATE has to turn his back on everyone to hide his painful, convulsive laughter. DONITA, engrossed in her own story, doesn’t notice.)
DONITA: Yeah, man. And like, for a while, things seemed okay. I mean, Lita was clearly pretty upset, but we all figured she’d get over it. But then, one morning, she vanished. Just gone. And all of her stuff was gone, too except one final message she left, in the form of a half-burnt two-page pinup of Tommy Lee, with the words “FUCK YOU GUYS” scrawled across his torso in hot pink lipstick. And we’ve never seen or heard from her since. Not me, not Mom, not Dad, not… Davíde. Just nothing. Poof, vanished. Like a ghost. (Her expression suddenly shifts from one of sadness and regret to one of anger) …Or like a fucking Phantom.
NATE: Ohhh. Man, I should’ve seen that coming. You really think your sister is the Phantom? I mean, the mask and all.
DONITA: Come on, dude, that mask covers like a quarter of her face. It’s her, it has to be. And so I know what I have to do. You see, when my folks sent me out into the world to spread the word about The Old Ways, I had a second mission. To find Lita, to kick her ass, and to bring her back home.
NATE: Your parents actually told you to kick your little sister’s ass?
DONITA: Well, no, that part was all me. She deserves it, after what she put us through. Somehow, some way, I’m gonna finally get her in the ring, and I’m gonna beat her ass till she can’t stand, and I’m gonna tear that little slut’s stupid mask off in front of everyone. I just have to find a way to get her in a match…
ABDUL: Well, there’s part of your problem right there. You’re never gonna set up a match where she has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Can’t have a lucha de apuestas with one-sided stakes like that. You gotta put something up of your own.
DONITA: I dunno, I already beat her once, so it’s not like it matters… Sure, shit, why not? If I beat her, she loses the mask and drops the glam bullshit, and if she beats me – and she won’t – I’ll put the L.A. Guns bullshit on myself.
ABDUL: Hot damn, Mask vs. Hair Metal! I like it!
NATE: The only problem is setting up a match with someone who hides all the time. We can’t just book this sort of thing, it has to be agreed upon by both parties. It’s part of The Code.
ABDUL and DONITA: (solemnly) The Code.
THE KORN DEMON: (still muffled through the door) Uhh, sorry for eavesdroppin’, eh, but you might try calling her?
NATE: Holy crap, that’s brilliant! Thank you, Korn Demon!
THE KORN DEMON: Hey, no problem, buddy.
ABDUL: Wait, you can just call? But what about her secret identity?
DONITA: That’s what prepaid burner phones are for, man.
NATE: Yeah, I had completely forgot about that, I have her number in my phone and everything. You two be quiet for a second…
(NATE holds the phone to his ear and waits patiently)
NATE: Aw, come on, pick up! Do people really think that the people calling them don’t know they always have their-
ABDUL: Shhhh! Hey, do you hear that?
NATE: Hear what? Wait, that sounds like…
ABDUL: A buzzing noise… Kinda like a-
DONITA: SON OF A BITCH!
(The light in THE MOP CLOSET suddenly goes out, followed by the telltale sound of a steel chair cracking against a human skull)
NATE: What’s going on!? Where the hell is the light switch in here!?
ABDUL: Hold up, I got it.
(The light comes back on, and DONITA is laying on the ground, completely KNOCKED THE FUCK OUT, with the words “I ACCEPT” written on her back in what appears to be HOT PINK LIPSTICK)
ABDUL: Welp, I guess that settles that. I better get to my actual office and put that match down in the ol’ Google Doc, before I forget. Maybe get Murray working on a poster or something.
NATE: Well, I mean, yeah, but… Shouldn’t we do something for Donita? You know, she looks pretty bad, and I’m reasonably sure that’s a blood puddle pooling under her head.
ABDUL: Eh, she’s a wrestler, trust me, she’s used to it. You gonna be all right, Donita?
(DONITA remains pretty much motionless, but then kind of groans, then slowly and weakly gives a thumbs up)
ABDUL: Welp, there you go. C’mon Nate, I think the burrito place down the block is still open.
