(THE SCENE: The Hoss Dojo training facility, out on the edge of town, right past where the old Walmart (the one full of feral dogs) is located. The makeshift tag team of SKIP LEGDAY and CAPTAIN STRUGGLE have come here seeking advice on their upcoming WAR PARTY 2021 match from veteran OL’ ROSS GRACIE, but he is nowhere to be found. Extremely loud snoring can be heard from behind the door to Hoss’s office, and it is extremely awkward.)
SKIP: Soooo… Uhh… Do you think we should leave, or…?
STRUGGLE: Five more minutes.
SKIP: Bro, you said that five minutes ago.
STRUGGLE: I drive fifteen minutes to get here, we wait another five.
SKIP: I dunno, maybe we could just leave for a while and come back or something. It’s a thousand degrees in here.
STRUGGLE: Hoss say it build character. Allegedly.
SKIP: Well, I’m at least gonna go outside for a minute.
STRUGGLE: Hm. Probably a good idea.
(The two turn around and start to leave, when all of a sudden, the office doors fly open, and OL’ ROSS GRACIE appears, brandishing a double barreled shotgun.)
HOSS: ALRIGHT YA GODDAMN BUSHWACKIN’ RATTLESNAKE MOTHERFUCKERS! TRYIN’ TO ROB OL’ HOSS ARE YA? I’M GONNA FILL YOUR HIDES SO FULL O’ LEAD, YOU’RE GONNA SHIT PELLETS FOR A WEEK!
SKIP: HOSS! Stop, it’s us!
STRUGGLE: (Yells something in Japanese that I couldn’t decipher, due to being extremely monolingual, but based on my knowledge of body language and tonality, it was just filled to the brim with cusses)
HOSS: What? Aw hell, sorry boys. Ol’ Hoss ain’t got his glasses on. I remember y’all. Scoop Lindsey and his young son, Colonel SANDERS, right?
SKIP: Bro! You could’ve killed us both!
HOSS: What? Aw bullshit, this thing ain’t even loaded!
(HOSS pumps his shotgun several times, ejecting a shell onto the dojo’s dirt floor every time.)
HOSS: Huh. Well whaddaya know? Anyways, important part is that it ain’t loaded now, at least. I think. Anywho, what brings you two here?
MEANWHILE…
(THE SCENE: GARFIELD VANZETTI has gathered the troops (BUFORD RANDALL and the tag team/mercenary squad known as EXECUTIVE SOLUTIONS, consisting of WILHELM KRUGER and MAD DOG WOCIEJCHOWSKI) for a “strategic briefing” in advance of their WAR PARTY 2021 match in his combination workshop/Crossfit studio. The walls are plastered in assorted military-themed inspirational posters, politically-sketchy variations on the U.S. flag, conspicuously-displayed firearms, (with a wide assortment of incorrectly installed tactical enhancements), an Aubrey Huff baseball jersey sporting a forged signature, and various photos of GARFIELD himself doing things like posing powerfully while standing on some rocks, holding up a freshly caught bass, and shaking hands with TED NUGENT. Pictures of his wife or children are nowhere to be seen.)
GARFIELD: Men, I have gathered you here for an important strategic purpose. As you are all well aware, our beloved Tri-State Area-
MAD DOG: Man, I’m not even from here.
KRUGER: Me neither, and this place kinda sucks, to be honest.
GARFIELD: Well, er… MY beloved Tri-State Area has been under attack for several months now by dangerous insurrectionists. These anarchists, these demonic forces of darkness would destroy our freedom and our very way of life, given the opportunity. Already, they have caused my dearly beloved wife Patience to suffer a mental breakdown and seek solace at her mother’s house for the duration of this crisis.
KRUGER: (Whispering) More I think about it, Crash sure seems like an odd name for middle aged woman. And “solace” sure seems like an odd word to use for-
(MAD DOG, stifling a laugh, elbows KRUGER as an oblivious GARFIELD cobtinues)
GARFIELD: But at the upcoming War Party event, we have a chance to strike a blow for freedom. We have a chance to save this wrestling promotion, to save our country, and to save… My marriage.
(BUFORD stands and starts clapping)
BUFORD: Bravo, Mister Vanzetti! Bravo!
GARFIELD: Uhh… Not yet, Buford.
(BUFORD sits back down)
BUFORD: Oh.
MEANWHILE…
(THE SCENE: The downtown apartment of disgraced meteorologist and WAR PARTY 2021 team leader STORMY KNIGHT. It’s a surprisingly small and cramped space, where team members VIRGINIA SLAMS, VELVEETA DREAM, and AGENT BULLDOG are all crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on a small couch. DREAM is casually chowing down on a grilled cheese sandwich that she apparently brought from home, while BULLDOG seems fidgety and nervous, because she barely knows these people, and VIRGINIA seems fidgety and nervous because smoking is explicitly forbidden here, and she’s on the verge of full-on delirium tremens, a condition not normally associated with nicotine addiction. Any discussion of upcoming wrestling matches has taken a backseat to STORMY arguing on the phone with her landlord.)
STORMY: NO! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! Mr. Panagiotopoulos, the hot water has been out since Thursday!… No! Stavros never looked at it! He was never here!… No. I am not calling you a liar, I’m calling him a liar!… Bullshit!… I don’t care if “he say is fix,” Mr. Panagiotopoulos, I can assure you, he was never here, and my water heater IS NO FIX!
(VIRGINIA has finally had enough, grabbing a lighter and a pack of smokes and sprinting out of the apartment. As STORMY continues arguing with the landlord, BULLDOG continues sitting in awkward silence, until she realizes that DREAM has apparently finished her sandwich and has begun nibbling on little cheese cubes from a Zip-Loc bag that was located somewhere on her person.)
BULLDOG: So… Uhh… Cheese, huh?
DREAM: (indignantly) Cheese product.
BULLDOG: …Oh.
MEANWHILE….
(THE SCENE: The suburban home of YUMIKO LA GRANGE, where the two-car garage has been repurposed as both a home gym and a storage space. The three other members of her WAR PARTY 2021 team are a combination of bored and nosy, as TOSHIYO NAKANO stands beside a small early 2000s vintage CD boom box, flipping through compact discs and becoming increasingly disturbed and even disgusted by the selection available, CRAWDAD HOSHINO excitedly pilfers through boxes of wrestling memorabilia, and theoretical team captain JEZEBEL GRIM took advantage of the facilities at some point and started doing pull-ups at some point and just kind of never stopped. Meanwhile, unofficial team mascot ALAN LA GRANGE JUNIOR sits on a weight bench, engrossed in his Nintendo Switch. The homeowner is nowhere to be found, until she finally stumbles in, looking resplendent in stained gray sweat pants, neon green Crocs, and the extremely faded remains of a “CANNIBAL CORPSE EVISCERATION PLAGUE TOUR 2009” t-shirt, which gets more than a few confused looks. She has very clearly just woken up, and is not happy to see anyone, as usual.)
YUMIKO: What… What the FUCK are you all doing here this early!?
JEZEBEL: Dude, you said to be here early.
CRAWDAD: (through a huge grin) I live here!
JEZEBEL: …And she lives here.
TOSHIYO: And it not like we could do this at Jezebel’s place. Have you ever seen how this woman lives!?
JEZEBEL: Aw, goddammit, not this again…
TOSHIYO: Seriously! I try to clean up the place! I find men’s underwear between couch cushions! Two different sizes! I watched the cat shit in the kitchen sink! I pick up empty pizza box and loaded handgun fall out!
JEZEBEL: Hey, it had both safeties engaged.
YUMIKO: Just… Whatever. But when I said early, I meant like… Eleven thirty or so. What is it now, eight?
ACE JUNIOR: Mom, it’s 11:45.
YUMIKO: Wait, what? How?
ACE JUNIOR: You stayed up all night playing The Sims again.
JEZEBEL: Hell yeah, always knew she was a party animal.
YUMIKO: Ugh, but just… It is Sunday, for fuck’s sake. You people are young, you should all be sleeping off hangovers or something.
JEZEBEL: I see you severely underestimate my drinkin’ recovery powers.
CRAWDAD: I live here!
TOSHIYO: And well… I’m really not that young.
YUMIKO: With all due respect, Toshiyo, fuck off. You are twenty-nine. Give it another ten years and a couple of knee surgeries, and you will realize that your twenties are just the second decade of your teens.
(YUMIKO trudges over to a mini-fridge next to the stereo, which is apparently entirely loaded with caffeine, and pulls out a Red Bull and basically just chugs the damn thing.)
YUMIKO: So… Jezebel… Team Captain.
JEZEBEL: Oh. Uhh. Yeah, so… Uh… Like…
(YUMIKO pinches the bridge of her nose as though she can feel a migraine beginning)
JEZEBEL: Yeah… Uhh… (whispering, to YUMIKO) So, what should I be doing right now?
(YUMIKO starts to look annoyed, even by her standards)
YUMIKO: Jezebel, may I speak to you privately for a moment?
MEANWHILE…
(THE SCENE: The surprisingly tastefully appointed home of PRESIDENT EVIL. The three other members of his WAR PARTY 2021 team – AGENT FANG, AGENT 35 and TYRANNOSAURUS PLEX – await the arrival of the President in his finished basement, which he has converted into some sort of hybrid home gym/suburban dad man-cave/shrine to himself. In addition to an original Addams Family pinball machine, an impossibly large television, and a 1980s vintage stereo system with the entire Kenny Loggins vinyl discography within easy reach, the room is covered in assorted bits of the Prez’s own wrestling history, such as trophies, old masks, and magazine covers featuring the Prez, blown up to poster size and immaculately framed. TYRANNOSAURUS PLEX broods quietly on the couch, while FANG and 35 both stand around a weight bench, where the barbell has so much weight on it that the bar is actually bending slightly, and the two ponder whether their boss can actually lift that much, or if he just put all those plates on there to freak them out.)
35: I’m telling you dude, ain’t no damn way.
FANG: I dunno, I think sometimes you just kinda forget how big that man is.
35: Dude, that is like 600 fuckin’ pounds, at least!
FANG: I’m just saying. I’ve seen him straight-up toss Big Baby Lucifer before. Treat Boy, too. Dude’s an animal.
35: Yeah, well that’s different. Ain’t no fuckin’ way.
(PRESIDENT EVIL finally arrives, dressed for success in an apparently custom-made Evil Administration Adidas track suit. The two Evil Agents stand at attention, while T-Plex barely acknowledges him.)
EVIL: At ease, dicks. (To Tyrannosaurus Plex) Huh, I’ll be damned, he actually showed up. Maybe they were wrong about Tyrannosaurs evolving from chickens, after all.
T-PLEX: (grunts)
(The two Evil Agents take a seat on the couch, barely squeezing in next to the giant dinosaur-man)
EVIL: Okay, so let’s just plow right into this, so I can get you people out of my house. War Party’s coming up, and since you’re all tiny, sweet, tender babies, you probably don’t know what to expect. First thing you need to know is that-
(The door opens, and FIRST LADY EVIL enters, carrying a tray of assorted appetizers)
FIRST LADY: Hey, just figured if your little friends were coming over, they might want a snack.
35: Aw hell yeah, pizza rolls!
(AGENT 35 excitedly grabs a fistful of Totino’s Pizza Rolls, pulls up the lower part of his mask and starts stuffing his face. T-PLEX immediately wrinkles his nose and elbows him in the shoulder hard enough to almost knock him out of his seat, before shooting him a mean look and motioning back toward the First Lady with his head)
35: Ah! Oh, uhhh… Thank you, Mrs. Evil.
(T-PLEX nods in approval)
FIRST LADY: Well, it’s nice to know that at least one of you has some manners.
(FIRST LADY EVIL smiles and hands T-PLEX a pig-in-a-blanket, who responds by coming as close as he ever does to smiling, which is to say he briefly stops frowning. Elsewhere, AGENT FANG, munching on a spring roll, has gotten back up and begun studying what appears to be a partially-obliterated steel chair hanging on the wall, next to a wig stand with a familiar-looking red, white, and blue mask.)
FANG: Hey, this is new… Wait a second… Is this…? Is this what I think it is? Is this the chair!?
EVIL: The one and only!
35: I don’t get it.
FANG: Duuuude. This is like the Holy Grail of Tri-State Area wrestling!
35: Yup. Still got nothing over here.
EVIL: (proudly) This is it, my friends. is the same chair that a young Lieutenant Governor Justice took up on that fateful night so many years ago, when he decided to live his truth by caving in the brain pans of Big Bird Machine and Ace La Grange, en route to fully embracing the Dark Side of the Force. All of this that you see here? It began with a swing of this very chair.
FANG: More like twenty or thirty swings.
PRESIDENT EVIL: Heh. Yeah, pretty much. But this was the chair that first introduced President Evil to the world, so when it finally popped up in Ebay, I had to have it by any means necessary.
FIRST LADY: (annoyed) Yeah, including a bidding war with Ivan Grozny…
EVIL: Not this again…
FIRST LADY: I’m just saying, I could’ve gotten you the exact same thing with a trip to Walmart for a folding chair and a hammer. And it would’ve cost a lot less than an Ebay war with a Russian mobster.
FANG: (through a heavy fake Russian accent) Is not mobster; is legitimate businessman!
EVIL: Well, you know, it would look the same, but I’d know the difference. And you know he never lets anyone see that private wrestling museum he has.
FIRST LADY: But how do we even know that’s the real chair anyway? Again: Walmart, cheap chair, hammer, exact replica.
EVIL: Well, you know, if it was fake, Grozny never would’ve gone for it.
FIRST LADY: What, does he have super x-ray vision now? Through a web browser, even?
35: You know the real question though: Do you guys think those twins of his are bangin’ each other?
(All chair-arguing and pizza roll-eating ceases, as the room becomes awkwardly silent and everyone just stares at AGENT 35, in a wordless, universal expression of the phrase “dude, what the hell?”)
35: What? Well, you know… They’re always together, they’re a tag team, hell, I think they even live together. I can’t be the only one who gets mad Lannisterish vibes off those two.
(“Dude, what the hell” intensifies)
35: Aw come on! And really, I mean, have you ever taken a good look at that Ludmilla chick? Hell, even if I was her brother, I’d have at least thought about going for it, you know?
(The silent, universal “dude, what the hell?” of the room intensifies into a full “dude, what the FUCK!?” as TYRANNOSAURUS PLEX nervously scoots to the other end of the couch)
35: Hey, don’t look at me like that! Come on! They’re twins! It would just be like jacking off or something!
FIRST LADY: 35, stop.
35: Yes, Mrs. Evil.
EVIL: Sooooo, wrestling matches, huh?
MEANWHILE…
(THE SCENE: The sprawling estate of Tri-State Area wrestling legend BIG BIRD MACHINE, where the barn out behind the main house has been converted to a wrestling gym, complete with its own ring. The walls are adorned with posters for local wrestling events going all the way back to the 1980s, plus another one portraying the mid 2000s “Dream Team” of Bird, ACE LA GRANGE, YUMIKO LA GRANGE, and LIEUTENANT GOVERNOR JUSTICE, with a 2020 STRUGGLE event poster awkwardly and conspicuously placed to cover up the LG. In the ring, ACE runs Bird’s son on current protégé EL HIJO DEL BIG BIRD MACHINE through some light drills until the Bird himself arrives.)
BIRD: Hey, you guys take a break for minute. We need to go over some stuff about what to expect in the War Party match that’s coming up.
HIJO: Is Rampage going to be here?
BIRD: What? No, he’s in San Jose. I already went over the match with him.
HIJO: Really? I figured since we were a team and all…
BIRD: He’s got his own stuff going on with Warrior Pro, probably.
HIJO: Wait, so he came all the way here just to show up unannounced for like a minute, then went home? Seems kinda weird to me.
BIRD: Ah, well you see, there’s an important lesson there. It would’ve been easier for me to just announce who the fourth guy was or even get one of Abdul’s ring crew guys to type up a press release or whatever. BUT- By showing up like that, Rampage made a buzz about the match. He got people talking.
HIJO: I still don’t get it.
BIRD: Well, it’s simply a solid business decision. No matter what personal issues are getting worked out in the ring, at its core, what we do is still prize fighting. The bigger the crowd, the bigger the prize. And believe me, it works the other way, too. Rampage made this real to everyone in that arena, and he made everyone watching the show at home not want to miss the next one. Also, he got people looking forward to a theoretical rematch between the two of us.
ACE: Plus I heard he had a shitload of frequent flier miles, brother.
BIRD: Well, yeah, but the main thing is he pretty much guaranteed a bigger turnout for our big show and a future Warrior Pro show, and higher attendance means we get paid more.
EL HIJO: Wait, what? My contract doesn’t work like that.
BIRD: …Which is why I told you to get a lawyer to look over it before you signed.
ACE: Hell, I ain’t even got a contract, brother. I’m on a flat fee per appearance arrangement.
BIRD: You don’t have a contract!? You’re a former world champion!
ACE: Lotta shit’s gone down between me being a champion and now, brother. Got some, you know… Reliability issues.
BIRD: …Right.
MEANWHILE…
YUMIKO: Jezebel, what the fuck is wrong with you!?
JEZEBEL: Uhh, like in general? This could take a while…
YUMIKO: See!? You are not taking this seriously at all!
JEZEBEL: I am! It’s just… You know… (sighs) Look, I got no idea what the hell I’m doing. My prior group-based wrestling experiences all involve standing behind my sister or my dad and looking mean while they do the talking. When it comes to leading a faction, I’m fuckin’ lost.
YUMIKO: …And it shows. Look, first of all, you are getting ahead of yourself with this “faction” talk. This is a one-time deal, and then we go our separate ways.
JEZEBEL: I dunno, it just made sense to me. I mean, we’re all connected, me and Toshi are roommates now, you’re cousins, Crawdad’s crashing in your spare room. And we’re all friends. Well, we’re not friends, but I’d like to think we’ve upgraded to “non-enemies” at least.
YUMIKO: Well, I still think it is premature to-
JEZEBEL: And I got Junior to teach me how to use pirated Photoshop, so I could make us a t-shirt logo! Check this shit out!
(JEZEBEL flips through her phone for a second, then shows the screen to YUMIKO, who raises an eyebrow)
YUMIKO: Uhh… Well, I mean… I think the samurai sword is a bit much, and the assault rifle might be considered… problematic, but I suppose by the low, low standards of wrestling related graphic design… Look, we can talk about this later. Listen, you have to stop asking me what to do.
JEZEBEL: But I literally don’t know what to do! You’re the one who’s been in one of these matches before.
YUMIKO: And you are theoretically the leader here. And these things fall apart fast if the captain is lost. So instead of asking me what to do like a lost child, maybe you should instead phrase the question in the form of a command.
JEZEBEL: Like Reverse Jeopardy.
YUMIKO: If that is what works for you, sure.
JEZEBEL: Okay, so like… Instead of just being all “uhh what do we do,” I should say something like, “as the most experienced member of the team, Miss La Grange is going to go over a few details of what we should expect in the upcoming match.”
YUMIKO: Exactly. Except maybe dial the formality down a bit. We should be on a first name basis here.
JEZEBEL: Ha, told you we were friends.
YUMIKO: Do not push it.
MEANWHILE…
HOSS: …Now at this point in time, I reckon we was about 45 minutes outside San Antonio. And you see, my tag partner, Buck – Don’t recollect if I mentioned Buckshot McMurder yet – He liked to party a little harder than the rest of us, y’see. And none of us thought to ask why he had that guitar case with him, when we knew he didn’t play. And well, turns out the damn thing was packed with about $75,000 worth of high-grade Lebanese opium.
SKIP: Uhh… I don’t mean to interrupt, but what has any of this got to do with the match?
HOSS: Goddammit, boy, I’m getting there! Anyways, we were on I-35, and I was doin’ a hundred easy, when I saw them blue lights behind us…
MEANWHILE…
STORMY: (Holding a big, stapled-together bundle of papers) So, I got a bunch of stuff off of Wikipedia about this kind of match, and they called it an “extended elimination” match.
VIRGINIA: (unintelligible)
STORMY: Calm down, I’m getting there. Anyway, basically, this is kind of like a gauntlet match with two teams of-
VIRGINIA: (unintelligible)
STORMY: How can you not know what a gauntlet match is?
VIRGINIA: (unintelligible)!
STORMY: I said I’m getting there! So basically, this is like a series of singles matches, where the loser-
DREAM: So it’s not a tag?
STORMY: I literally just said it was a series of singles matches, where-
DREAM: Well, that’s stupid.
STORMY: That’s just the kind of match it is.
DREAM: And that’s dumb, if I start getting beaten up, I’mma just tag out.
VIRGINIA: (unintelligible)
DREAM: Exactly!
STORMY: You can’t tag out! It’s not a fucking tag match!
DREAM: You can’t tell me what to do!
(VIRGINIA stands up and moves quickly for the door)
STORMY: Wait, where are you going?
VIRGINIA: (visibly in distress and already pulling the plastic off a fresh pack of smokes) (unintelligible)!
STORMY: Already!?
(VIRGINIA rushes to get outside, and in her haste, leaves the door just a tiny bit ajar)
STORMY: Hey! Dammit, close the-
(STORMY’s cat suddenly darts through the opening and hauls ass down the hallway toward freedom)
STORMY: JEREMY RENNER, NO!
MEANWHILE…
EVIL: …So by rule, the team captain always goes last. This means that if all goes well, the leader – which is me – gets the privilege of watching his enemies have their asses handed to them without ever having to raise a finger.
AGENT 35: And if it goes bad?
EVIL: Quiet, perv, I was getting there. If you three shit the bed out there, this means that the strongest, bravest, and most handsome member of the team – again, which is me – has the responsibility to clean up your mess and bring the team back from the brink of disaster. And another aspect of setting the order of entry is to identify your team’s weakest link. And sorry, lil’ buddy, but that’s you, Fang.
FANG: Aw, come on!
EVIL: Look, there’s a reason for weight divisions, and you’re a cruiserweight going up against a team with three Hosses and a Giant. It’s simple math.
FANG: Wait, what’s a Hoss?
EVIL: You know. Big dudes, doing big dude things.
FANG: Then what’s the difference between a Hoss and a Giant?
EVIL: Well, a Giant is pretty much someone who’s so goddamn big that it’s abnormal.
FANG: Like Skip Legday?
35: Or that Uberklaw dude?
EVIL: No, no, no. I mean, yes, they’re both fucked-up freaks, but a Giant is abnormal on sheer size alone. Skip would be a Hoss, and Klaw is just like… A guy.
FANG: So like… Would Big Treat Boy be a Hoss or a Giant?
EVIL: Huh… He’s a little more ahtletic than somebody like Big Baby Lucifer, so I’d say he’s on the borderline between a Hoss and a Big Man.
FANG: Wait, what’s a Big Man?
EVIL: Catch-all term for the fats.
FANG: Ohhhhhh.
MEANWHILE…
BIG BIRD MACHINE: Now, the key to this whole thing will be Agent Fang. He’s a little guy, and weight classes exist for a reason. He won’t be an easy fall to score, but he’ll be easier than the other three. Evil and T-Plex are both Hosses, and Agent 35-
ACE: He’s pretty much a psycho, brother.
BIRD: Exactly. Fang represents a chance to take a lead, and the team that takes an early lead in these matches rarely loses it. Because even if they manage to eliminate someone to bring it to a tie, that guy has to try and beat someone else while already having wrestled. So a lead gives you the luxury of just having to do enough damage for the next guy to score the actual fall.
HIJO: So… There’s a chance that the leader of the winning team might not even have to wrestle anyone?
BIRD: Yup.
HIJO: Also… What’s a Hoss?
MEANWHILE…
HOSS: …So around this time, ol’ Buck – and I don’t recollect if I ever mentioned Buckshot McMurder yet, he was my tag partner y’see – he was datin’ this little blonde gal, Debbie something. She was some kinda singer up in New York, think they were called Harry or some shit, probably never amounted to anything.
SKIP: Wait, are you trying to say that Buckshot McMurder dated Debbie Harry? From Blondie?
STRUGGLE: This didn’t happen.
HOSS: Jesus Christ, boy, I don’t know if she was hairy or not, and I don’t care! Keep your hormones to yourself, goddammit! Anyway, one night she calls me, all pissed and goin’ on about some shit or another, so I just decided to head over there. And the time I got to Debbie’s apartment, there Buck was, naked as a jaybird, sittin’ in the floor, and tryin’ to assemble one o’ them pre-fab IKEA bookshelves.
SKIP: Seriously though, what does this have to do with the match?
STRUGGLE: …This thing that never happened.
HOSS: Quiet, I’m gettin’ there! So Debbie was real upset with Buck, because y’see, the nudity was to be expected with how much PCP he had in him, on account of it makes you hot, you know. Least that’s what he told me. But anywho, she was pissed off, because that was a $75 shelf, and it was lookin’ real fucked up, also on account of the PCP…
MEANWHILE…
YUMIKO: …So when you start setting the order the team fights in- and the order has to be set in advance and given to the referee ahead of the match – it is important to identify any weak link the team has.
TOSHIYO: (sadly) It’s me. I’m the weak link.
YUMIKO: Goddammit, stop that.
TOSHIYO: Well… You all have beaten me at some point, and so has half of the other team. I nothing but a career mid-carder, I wrestle for ten years and never win a championship, and all I will-
JEZEBEL: I’m the team captain here, let me handle this, Yumiko. Toshiyo, goddammit, stop that!
TOSHIYO: Hmph.
YUMIKO: (sighs) ANYWAY… The important thing to remember here is that if the team has a member that is significantly weaker than the others, you never send them out first. Never, ever, ever. It is practically begging to fall behind. Only a complete fool would do this. Only a moron, a simpleton, a complete fucking idiot would ever do this. A drooling dolt, a mental defective who could barely feed themselves, that is who would make such an asinine decision.
MEANWHILE…
GARFIELD: …I have spent many years poring over the history of military strategy and tactics, and the strategic tactical decision is that since Buford is the weakest, slowest, and stupidest of the four of us, tactically, he should go first.
MAD DOG: And he’s all fucked up looking, too.
KRUGER: And his haircut sucks.
BUFORD: (sadly) Aw, come on. You guys, I’m standing right here.
MAD DOG: Shut the fuck up, Grover.
KRUGER: Yeah, quiet, bitch.
BUFORD: B-but… Mister Vanzetti!
GARFIELD: Silence, Buford.
BUFORD: (on the verge of tears) Yes, sir.
MEANWHILE…
HOSS; Now, I dunno what you boys have heard about Wendy O. Williams, but heh, let me tell ya, she was a little hellcat. And not to get too graphic, on account of you two bein’ so young, but what she was proposin’ to me and ol Buck, well, let’s say that neither one of us was gonna feel left out.
STRUGGLE: I not even know who that is, and I already know this never happened.
HOSS: Ah, but well, I was married to my third wife at the time -and I actually liked that one, y’know – so I wasn’t gonna participate, and Buck just kinda chickened out, as he had a tendency to do, so she left with Lemmy and the boys that night. And of course, Buck had immediate regrets – and I don’t recollect if I mentioned him before, he was my tag partner, y’see – and he was all zonked out pills and making poor choices, so he decided to head to the restroom to, uhhh, let’s say relieve himself of some pressure.
SKIP: Uhhh… Seriously, bro, what does your old tag partner masturbating in a public restroom have to do with our match?
HOSS: God damn, boy, I didn’t say he was going to do anything like that! And I’m gettin’ there, Christ! So anyway, Buck heads to the restroom to jack off, and this was complicated by all the stalls being full and the bar we was in not having anything but a trough. and this was complicated further when the high sheriff showed up and decided he really needed to go take a piss…
MEANWHILE…
STORMY: (heard from outside, through an open window) GODDAMMIT, JEREMY RENNER! You get back here! You little son of a bitch!
(AGENT BULLDOG just sits and fidgets, while VELVEETA DREAM has moved on from bite-sized pieces to just gnawing on a big log of raw Velveeeta. At some point, VIRGINIA SLAMS returns, sits down, and immediately starts plastering nicotine patches up and down her arms)
STORMY: Alright, FINE! you little ingrate! I hope a fucking DOG finds you before I do!
(The uncomfortable silence continues, until STORMY returns, covered in road grime from apparently trying to retrieve JEREMY RENNER from underneath a parked car. And she is piiiiissed offfff, you guys.)
BULLDOG: So… Uhh… Is there any other match strategy we need to discuss, or…
STORMY: No. No, everyone… Just… Look at us. (waving her arms around her apartment) Look at this shit we have to deal with! I live in a shithole! I haven’t had a hot shower in a week! I have fucking ants! Virginia lives in a trailer park, for God’s sake! And Dream? All she can afford to eat is fake cheese!
DREAM: (indignantly) Well, actually-
STORMY: And Bulldog, you’re doing okay, but why? Because one of their pet forty year-olds is taking care of you! And this is bullshit! They keep saying that people like us represent the future of this company? Well, I say fuck the future, we should be right now! But they keep holding us down, pushing us behind people who deserve it less, just because of who their relatives are or because they were around while they ran the promotion into the ground. So I say we go out there and send a message. We’re going to get in that ring and dismantle those assholes, and shut their nostalgic bullshit down once and for all! Now… Please get the fuck out of my apartment, so I can take a cold shower.
MEANWHILE…
JEZEBEL: Look, before we wrap this up, I just want y’all to know that I got a good feeling about this group of people right here. And I know Stormy’s probably somewhere, talking all that bullshit she likes to talk, and that’s just what it is: Bullshit. Yeah, my daddy’s a legend around here, and his daddy before him was even bigger. But does that mean I didn’t work to get where I am? Fuck no! Before I was old enough to get a license, I was in the back room of a fuckin’ biker bar, kicking people’s asses! Because this is what I was born for! I got no education, I got no Plan B, all I got is this! This is my life! And I think it’s all of yours, too. And for someone to tell me that all we’ve gone through, all our scars don’t count? (pointing at each team member in succession) Your bum knees? Your broke-ass arm? Your… Uhhh
CRAWDAD: I live here!
JEZEBEL: And your… Brain thing. Point here is that we’ve given our lives to this shit, just as much or more than any of them! We deserve everything we got! Hell, we deserve more! And when we get out there, this team, this fuckin’ family, they’re gonna deserve the ass-whippin’ we lay on them!
MEANWHILE…
GARFIELD: Gentlemen, the future of our great nation is at stake. Our cities burn, our way of life is threatened, and these Cancel Culture socialists spread their politically correct lkahfiufkjhbqwlkhegfrliqgfkabfkabfkhb
(EDITOR’S NOTE: GARFIELD’s speech went on for like a full hour, consisted of at least 85% buzz words, made no sense on any level, and I have too much going on in my life to transcribe the thing. You’ve already heard most of it, probably. What you should know is that by the end, BUFORD was in tears, although I couldn’t tell whether this was from inspiration or a reaction to endless personal abuse. Also, MAD DOG was asleep, and I’m pretty sure KRUGER was scrolling through Jeep parts on Ebay, but the Invisible Backstage Camera never got a good look at the screen of his phone. We now rejoin this speech in progress.)
GARFIELD: Freedom! Liberty! Guns! Freedom! THIS WE’LL DEFEND!
BUFORD: (openly weeping) Bravo! Bravo, mister Vanzetti!
KRUGER: Uhh, yeah! Go team, or whatever!
(KRUGER elbows MAD DOG, who is startled awake)
MAD DOG: AH! BADGERS!… I mean, uhh… (looks around) Yeah. Good… thing. Right… Right on.
MEANWHILE…
HOSS: …Now, I was goin’ through a sober phase at the time, so I was tryin’ to play peacemaker, ya know? But ol’ Buck, god damn – and he was my tag team partner, don’t recollect if I mentioned that before – he was dippin’ into the medicine pretty hard at that point, and keepin’ things peaceful was the least of his concerns. So while I had been tryin’ calm him down all night, Buck just jumps up, and goes, “goddammit, Varg. I don’t know this Øystein fella from Adam, but if you really think he’s gonna try and pull some shit, we oughtta jump in the car and go wake the motherfucker up and show him why it would be a bad idea!”
(HOSS sadly places his cowboy hat over his heart, while SKIP and STRUGGLE just look at each other in confusion)
HOSS: Ugly business, that was. Real ugly business.
STRUGGLE: (to SKIP, whispering) Told you we should have just checked Wikipedia.
SKIP: Yup.
MEANWHILE…
PRESIDENT EVIL: One more thing before you all get the hell out of my house. People are going to point at us, yell at us, throw shit at us, and call us every name they can think of. They’re gonna point at us and yell “fuck you, you’re the bad guy.” And you know what? They’re right. And it’s the only goddamn thing any of those miserable fucks will ever be right about in their miserable little lives. And when you get out there, make sure to take a good look at what they’re idea of “good” has gotten them. A whole crowd of fat, diseased alcoholics, with not a sliver of hope between the thousand of them. And take a look at our opponents. A hypocrite like Bird, a little punk like his large adult son, yet another fat, diseased alcoholic like Ace, and fuckin’ Rampage. Those are the good guys? Those are their heroes? Well, I’m gonna paraphrase something that was said about a dozen years ago by America’s greatest thinker and philosopher, which was me: If that’s what those sad little fucks think of as “good,” then good is something I want no part of! You wanna call me evil, well fuck you, I’m gonna beat you to it! Evil means never having to lie to yourself about who you are! Evil means never having to say you’re sorry! And evil? Well, you know by now…
FANG and 35: (together) EVIL ALWAYS WINS!
T-PLEX: (Just grunts, while he and PRESIDENT EVIL lock eyes, neither seeming to approve of the other)
EPILOGUES OF THE INVISIBLE OMNIPRESENT CAMERA #1!
(STORMY sinks into her living room couch, head wrapped in a towel, looking miserable and slightly shivering, when the doorbell rings. She sighs dejectedly and opens the door, to see AGENT BULLDOG standing there, with JEREMY RENNER tucked under her arm)
BULLDOG: Jeremy Renner has been apprehended, Miss Knight.
JEREMY RENNER: Meow.
STORMY: Oh wow… You didn’t have to do that.
BULLDOG: Also, water heater. Gas or electric?
STORMY: I, uhh… It’s white, and it’s round.
BULLDOG: Did it lose function gradually or all at once.
STORMY: Kinda died over the course of a few weeks.
BULLDOG: Hm. more than likely electric. Heating element. I’ll need the make and model, and a few hours to source the part, an element wrench, and a garden hose.
STORMY: uhh… You really don’t have to-
BULLDOG: Ma’am? When you added me to your team, you added President Evil’s personal problem solver. This is what I do.
STORMY: Oh… Okay…
EPILOGUE #2!
(JEZEBEL and YUMIKO are still in the garage, but everyone else has fucked off to somewhere else. JEZEBEL is looking extremely relieved that their team meeting is over.)
JEZEBEL: So, uhh… How’d I do?
YUMIKO: Eh. I have seen worse.
JEZEBEL: Aw come on. This shit ain’t easy.
YUMIKO: I know. I was in a similar situation as a would-be faction leader about twenty years ago, back in OJW.
JEZEBEL: How’d that go?
YUMIKO: Well… Like I said, I have seen worse.
JEZEBEL: Heh. I just hope no one noticed how bad my hands were shaking.
(JEZEBEL stands up and walks near the open garage door and starts to light up something that appears to be a cigar)
YUMIKO: Look, that hard is part is over. Now, all we have to do is wrestle. And that part should come naturally to- (stops and sniffs the air) Wait, what is that?
JEZEBEL: What? You know what’s in this, hell, you’ve seen the stickers I got all over my truck.
YUMIKO: No, seriously. Give me that.
JEZEBEL: What?
YUMIKO: Now.
JEZEBEL: Ugh, fine.
(JEZEBEL hands the blunt over, and YUMIKO immediately extinguishes it and starts smelling it, before ripping it open and inspecting the contents)
JEZEBEL: Hey, what the fuck!?
YUMIKO: Jezebel! This is… Just… No. No, no, no. Did you bring any more of this bullshit into my house!?
JEZEBEL: Come on, what are you, my mom!?
YUMIKO: Empty your pockets!
JEZEBEL: No.
YUMIKO: NOW.
JEZEBEL: I’m your team captain!
YUMIKO: And you are on my property. Hand it over.
JEZEBEL: Fine. What the fuck ever.
(JEZEBEL reaches into her back pocket and slams a rolled-up sandwich bag full of marijuana into YUMIKO’s hand, where she immediately begins inspecting the contents, and seemingly growing more and more angry the entire time)
JEZEBEL: Jesus fuckin’ Christ, and here I was thinkin’ we might eventually be cool with each other, and here you go, pullin’ your bullshit again, and-
(JEZEBEL stops and looks on in horror and YUMIKO empties the baggy into the trash)
JEZEBEL: What the fuck!? I paid fifty bucks for that!
YUMIKO: I absolutely can not believe you would bring something like this into my house.
JEZEBEL: Oh great, here it comes. You’re just like my fuckin’ dad.
YUMIKO: Jezebel, there is virtually nothing here but seeds and stems! And this is barely even a dime! You got ripped off!
JEZEBEL: And here comes the fuckin’ lecture about- Waaaait, do what now?
YUMIKO: See, this is why you need an experienced older wrestler for guidance, if you are really serious about starting a wrestling faction. Jezebel, that was fucking shake.
JEZEBEL: I… W-what is even happening right now?
YUMIKO: Look. Go do whatever you need to do. At some point, Junior is going to go be an idiot somewhere with one of his stupid friends. Whenever that happens, get back over here, and I will call my guy, and he can hook you up with some shit that will send you into orbit.
JEZEBEL: Wow… I had no idea.
YUMIKO: No one does, and let us keep it that way.
JEZEBEL: Huh. You know, I had always figured you for a real stick in the mud, but between this and that fucked-up shirt, I don’t know what to think anymore.
YUMIKO: Listen. Certain habits and tastes aside, I can assure you: I am a huge stick in the mud. Now get the fuck out of here.
EPILOGUE #3!
(Back at El Casa De Evil, PRESIDENT EVIL is in the process of heaving a bigass bag of household garbage out by the curb, while whistling “Meet Me Half Way” rather poorly. He is still wearing his mask (the old hood-style one, for the record) and it looks as ridiculous as it sounds. A late 90s vintage Nissan Sentra pulls up and AGENT BULLDOG gets out, holding a coiled-up garden hose, which she hands over to the Prez.)
EVIL: So how did it go?
BULLDOG: Hot water confirmed in all faucets, sir.
EVIL: No, I mean how did the team meeting thing go?
BULLDOG: Uhh… Well… (gets an extremely pained look on her face, or at least on the parts that show through the mask) Requesting permission to speak freely, sir.
EVIL: (wincing) Why? Why do you talk like that?
BULLDOG: (just stares, silently)
EVIL: Oh Jesus fucking Christ… Yes, permission granted, or whatever.
BULLDOG: I think we might be screwed, sir. Miss Knight is passionate, but she’s clearly overwhelmed. Meanwhile, Miss Slams and Miss Dream are both idiots, and between their respective smoking and eating habits, they could both be dead before the match takes place.
EVIL: Look. Just do what you can. You’re my right hand, so I’m trusting you with this information: One or more of those idiots might become very useful to the Administration sometime soon. Can’t say why just yet, because it may be nothing, but keep doing what you’re doing, and stay on everybody’s good side for now.
BULLDOG: Understood, sir.
EPILOGUE #4!
(Things are winding down at the Machine residence, as EL HIJO DEL BIG BIRD MACHINE has already gone home, and ACE LA GRANGE is seemingly about to head out himself. BIG BIRD MACHINE heads over to a mini fridge and pulls out a Dos Equis)
BIRD: You want anything, Ace?
ACE: Aw hell, brother, you know I gotta stay dry.
(BIRD nods and lobs a bottle his way anyway, which ends up being a Dr. Pepper. One of the old style Mexican ones, in a glass bottle.)
ACE: Wow, it’s even the good stuff.
BIRD: So, what do you think?
ACE: I like our chances, brother.
BIRD: i hope you’re right. (sighs) This isn’t going to end anything, you know that, right? Evil’s obsessed. He won’t let this go until he takes my mask.
ACE: You think he could do it?
BIRD: It’s not that I think he could… It’s that someday, somehow, I know he will. He was the biggest mistake I ever made.
ACE: So what the hell is his deal anyway? I never understood that.
BIRD: I dunno, I always thought it was a jealousy thing. Like I was holding him back while you became a star.
ACE: Brother, I think the fact that he was walking out to Lee Greenwood and telling a crowd of drunks to eat their Brussels sprouts in 2008 was what held him back. But damn, brother, he ended up being bigger than I was anyway, and it’s been over a decade!
BIRD: I just don’t know. He has his reasons, and that’s probably as much as I’ll ever know.
ACE: Some people just can’t let go of the past, brother.
(ACE takes a sip of his Dr. Pepper, and BIRD glances over and immediately looks annoyed, or at least as much as someone can with a full-face mask is able to)
BIRD: Ace… We’ve talked about this before.
ACE: Huh?
BIRD: You’re wearing your wedding ring again.
ACE: Oh… Uhh… I didn’t even realize I did that…
(ACE slides the ring off, studies it for a second, then slips it into his pocket)
BIRD: That’s not healthy, Ace.
ACE: I know… I just… You know. There are worse things to lose than a mask, brother.
(insert long, uncomfortable silence here)
ACE: Welp, I guess I’m gonna head out.
(ACE raises his bottle to BIRD, as if to propose a toast)
ACE: Here’s to learning from our mistakes, brother.
(BIRD raises his bottle)
ACE: Hopefully, at some point in the next twenty years, maybe at least one of us will actually figure out how.
BIRD: Heh. Salud.
ACE: cheers, brother.