(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?
PICTURED: Colonel Harlan Sanders.
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?
THE SCENE: The Vito Genovese Memorial Bingo Complex and Auction Barn. In the empty arena, STRUGGLE Pro wrestler, self-proclaimed “world’s greatest patriot,” and Facebook valor-thief GARFIELD VANZETTI stands in the ring holding a microphone. He is flanked by his wife, PATIENCE HALLIBURTON-VANZETTI and his weird little sidekick guy, BUFORD RANDALL. BUFORD stands at attention, as though either man had ever been involved in the military in any way whatsoever, and a visibly bored PATIENCE just kind of dicks around on her phone. Elsewhere, BUDDY FROM THE RING CREW records the whole scene.
GARFIELD: My fellow countrymen, these are dark times. This once-great nation stands on the precipice of disaster, as a fraudulent election and a completely-fabricated pandemic have-
(PATIENCE’s phone starts ringing, loudly playing “Jungle Love” by Morris Day and the Time)
GARFIELD: You didn’t put it on silent? I thought we talked about this?
(PATIENCE answers the phone, shoots him a look, and holds up a finger in the universal sign of “shut up, I’m on the phone”)
PATIENCE: Hey, look, I can’t talk right now, Garfield’s doing a… A thing, I dunno. (Whispering) And goddammit, I told you not to call this phone during the day!
GARFIELD: Wait, who is that?
PATIENCE: Oh. It’s… Uhh… Jane. Jane from… The office?
GARFIELD: Well, tell Jane you’ll call her back.
PATIENCE: (to the phone) Yeah, I gotta go, I’ll talk you later. (Whispering again) See you tonight, stud.
GARFIELD: Okay, so where was I… My fellow Americans, now is a time when we must-
(BUFORD’s phone starts ringing. It’s an early 2000s model Nokia – because he read online that the deep state can’t listen in on those – and it’s playing a MIDI version of Hanson’s “Mmm-Bop,” which he swears came with the phone)
GARFIELD: Really!? Don’t answer that!
BUFORD: But it’s my mom.
GARFIELD: I don’t care!
BUFORD: She only calls this phone in emergencies.
GARFIELD: Just pull out the goddamn battery!
BUFORD: (fumbling around with the back panel of the phone) Yes sir, immediately sir.
BUDDY: (over the PA system) Uhh, speaking of batteries, you need to wrap this up, this thing’s about to die.
GARFIELD: Okay! So. In these trying times, yadda yadda yadda, I am pleased to announce on behalf of my family, my country and STRUGGLE Pro Wrestling that my neck has fully healed, and I shall soon return to active competition. And with Buford by my side, The True Sons of Liberty are entering the Wild Card Challenge, where we shall inevitably earn a spot in the tag team championship tournament, and bring the gold back where it belongs.
BUFORD: And I’d just like to say that-
GARFIELD: …And as champion, I shall restore honor and integrity to this great sport, just as I did when I ended the careers of the seditious anarchists, Skip Legday and Captain STRUGGLE! United we stand! Guns, country, family, guns, God, freedom, guns! THIS I’LL DEFEND!
(At this point, it seems as though the promo is over, when all of a sudden, STRUGGLE Pro announcer, backstage interviewer, office gofer etc., MURRAY STADANKOWICZ walks out and enters the ring.)
GARFIELD: Wait, what is this? Why are you here?
MURRAY: Well, we have a special announcement to make, and just figured that as long as we have the cameras set up, we might as well do it now.
GARFIELD: But this is my promo! This is my time!
MURRAY: But I thought you were done. You said your catch phrase and everything.
GARFIELD: Well, I mean… Yeah, I guess.
MURRAY: Super great! Ladies and gentlemen! I have an exciting announcement! After a long delay, the wait is finally over! Now that they have finished their contractual obligations in Minneapolis and Portland, we can finally announce the arrival of the hottest free agent tag team in professional wrestling! Welcome to STRUGGLE Pro for the first time ever – they’ve never wrestled here in any capacity, folks – at a total combined weight of 461 pounds, introducing Skull Mayday and Comrade DIRECT ACTION: The Outside Agitators!
GARFIELD: Wait, what!?
(“Sleep Now in the Fire” by Rage Against the Machine blares over the PA system, as two black-clad masked wrestlers enter the arena. One is a cruiserweight whose lucha-style mask has an elaborate horned design, and the other is a heavily-tanned and almost absurdly muscular man with contradictory spindly legs. The closest physical comparison for the two would be CAPTAIN STRUGGLE and SKIP LEGDAY, like the resemblance is almost uncanny. Upon seeing the duo, GARFIELD is immediately livid.)
GARFIELD: What is the meaning of this! That’s clearly Skip Legday and Captain STRUGGLE! I have a restraining order!
MURRAY: What? No, these are two other guys! Come on, look at their masks!
GARFIELD: Butbutbut- Captain didn’t even get a new mask! I can still smell the spray paint!
COMRADE DIRECT ACTION: Ah, Captain STRUGGLE. I know he cool because I meet him in jail! He just like the Comrade, except he very ugly! That why he wear mask!
GARFIELD: What the hell are you even talking about!? And you! There’s no way you’re not Skip! The legs! Look at your legs! Your skinny little legs!!
SKULL MAYDAY: Speaking of skinny… Heard you just got over some kinda neck injury. Maybe if you had some traps, that wouldn’t have happened, bro. Looking pretty scrawny there, little man.
GARFIELD: Scrawny!? I was the 2015 Tri-State Area Over 40 Crossfit champion! I am the perfect human weapon!
SKULL: Well, you know. Maybe if you knocked off all the New Age nonsense and did some real lifting, you’d have some actual mass.
GARFIELD: Wha- Bu- Guh- (his speech degrades momentarily into a bunch of exasperated consonant sounds that do not resemble any known human language)
SKULL: Just saying, bro.
GARFIELD: I demand these two men be removed from the building at once! I HAVE A RESTRAINING ORDER!
COMRADE: Not against us.
GARFIELD: You little… Argh! THIS ISN’T OVER!
SKULL: Not by a long shot.
MURRAY: Ladies and gentlemen, The Outside Agitators!
THE SCENE: If you’re here, you probably already read the previous three installments. If not, go back anddothat. Anyway, at the behest of HAPSBURG RAYTHEON VI’s personal valet MR. WEI, NATE and ABDUL have just run outside, where PRESIDENT EVIL and EL HIJO DEL BIG BIRD MACHINE are in the process of beating the shit each other, although to be honest, EVIL is definitely getting the upper hand. Meanwhile, an assortment of wrestlers and trainees from the Hoss Dojo next door have gathered around, because everyone loves a fight, I dunno.
After a brief exchange of blows, EVIL grabs HIJO and just sort of flings him into a nearby parked car, sending him crashing to the ground in a shower of broken glass. Being super pissed-off, HIJO gets up immediately and charges, to a chorus of assorted hoots, hollers, and heckles from the gathered crowd of onlookers.
HAPSBURG RAYTHEON VI: Simply put, I am here to be your new world’s champion.
NATE: Excuse me?
HR6: Are you daft? I said I am here to be the champion!
NATE: No, I mean, I got that part, but are you even a professional wrestler?
HR6: I will have you know that I have hired the forty greatest professional wrestling tutors in the world, and then fired them and found forty who were even better! I have trained my body to the limits of human perfection! I am, without hyperbole, the greatest professional wrestler who has been or will ever be!
NATE: But… Have you even had a professional match yet?
HR6: What!? No, why would I even lower myself to doing such a thing?
THE SCENE: STRUGGLE Pro headquarters, the details of which you probably read about in the last blog post. Resident arch-villain PRESIDENT EVIL has been called into company president NATE RUGGLE’S office, to answer for his recent attack on BIG BIRD MACHINE, following a guest appearance at Warrior Pro’s Warriorversary II.
NATE RUGGLE: Seriously, what is wrong with you!? I have cut you as much slack as I possibly could, Evil, but this is too far! The cheating, the fights backstage, what you did to Ace-
PRESIDENT EVIL: Ha, and remember when I smashed up Brain God’s car? That was a good one, too.
NATE: I was getting there.
EVIL: It’s probably why he left, come to think of it. Took his whole crew with him, too. Good times, good times.
NATE: (seething) Yes, and now he runs his own promotion, and won’t stop sending me passive-aggressive emails about it.
EVIL: (Not even bothering to contain his laughter) And from what I understand, it’s a bigger operation than your shit-show.
NATE: (frowns)
EVIL: Heard they got working plumbing and their own building and everything.
UNCLE ABDUL: Goddammit, Evil. Just stop.
EVIL: You know by now that I’m incapable of that, gramps. It’s why we’re here.
THE SCENE: The STRUGGLE Pro offices in the former Blockbuster Video next to the bingo hall/wrestling arena. Head booker/building superintendent UNCLE ABDUL stands on a ladder, poking around in a ceiling panel next to a non-functional fluorescent light. The front door chimes as it swings open, and former women’s world champion/Hoss Dojo assistant head trainer YUMIKO LA GRANGE enters
YUMIKO: Abdul? Hoss said you needed to see me about something?
(NOTE: Due to the incredibly timely nature of this post, it’s necessary to point out that this all pertains to the events of SHELTER IN PLACE #3. Also, there were reports of some weird visual glitches, almost as though this all took place on a heavily-modded video game, but that is FAKE NEWS from the failing Wrestling Observer.)
(Backstage, DOCTOR REVEREND BILLY WAYNE HUMBLE has just defeated TYRANNOSAURUS PLEX with a timely assist from the team of FATHER MAYHEM and RABBI SPIKE, aka the tag team of BAD RELIGION. The entirety of HUMBLE MINISTRIES is there, with SISTER CANDY supervising as BROTHER SMOTHERS and SISTER DOBALINA load up the few remaining bottles of HUMBLE’S MIRACLE ELIXIR for transport back to the van, and Humble himself goes over the night’s receipts and packs away a substantial amount of cash. As Candy and Dobalina make their way outside, the two members of BAD RELIGION approach.)
BILLY WAYNE HUMBLE: (moving quickly to close the cash box and pass it off to SMOTHERS, who exits the scene, before breaking into a huge smile and going into full snake oil salesman mode) Why hello there, my brothers! As we have not had a proper introduction, allow me to introduce myself, I am the right honorable Doctor Reverend-
RABBI SPIKE: Ve know, ya putz. And I am thinking you know us, too.
FATHER MAYHEM: Gotta say, “Doctor Reverend,” this is a helluva operation you got here. Sure would be a shame if something were to… happen to it. (picks up a bottle of elixir and cracks open the seal, taking a sniff and immediately recoiling in disgust)
HUMBLE: (indignantly snatches the bottle out of Spike’s hand) Excuse me, but that is a very expensive medicinal preparation. And I do not appreciate your tone, my good sir. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that sounded like a threat.
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-
THE SCENE: STRUGGLE Pro headquarters in the closed-down Blockbuster location next to the arena. Acting company president Nate Ruggle, looking like he hasn’t slept in days – because he hasn’t – sits at a desk covered in receipts and invoices, desperately trying to figure out a way to keep the company afloat during the COVID-19 health crisis. He has now reached the point of last resort: Calling his his mom and asking for money.
NATE: Look – No, mother, there is nothing left! Between replacing the wiring and – No, we couldn’t leave it alone! It was a fire hazard! But between that and the pipes, I’m wiped out!… No, we couldn’t just ignore the plumbing problems! The basement was full of sewage! It was a river of shit!… No, we couldn’t just close the door!… Yes, mother, yes I know that Stevie always found the money. He found it by laundering it for the mob! Hell, not even the mob, more like eight different mobs!… No, that’s not just a rumor, it’s why he’s in prison!… Christ, you had to pay half of them back yourself!… What!? No, it wasn’t a bank loan! A bank doesn’t ask you to repay a loan by going to a parking garage at night and handing a briefcase to a guy named “Vlad the Bull!”… His legal defense fund!? There’s nothing to defend!… No, it’s not that I have no faith in the legal system, it’s that he was guilty as hell, and exposed himself to a judge!… Mother! He’s not a “good boy!” He tried to bribe a 75 year old judge with sexual favors!… No, no, no, the liberals didn’t make it up, there were witnesses and a security camera!… No… No, we’re not doing this right now… NO! Goddammit, I am hanging up this phone!… Love you too, bye.
(Nate throws his phone down on the desk and lets out an exasperated sigh, then looks up to see STRUGGLE head booker/producer/building supervisor/etc. Uncle Abdul standing in the doorway, looking both concerned and highly entertained)
ABDUL: So, uhhh… Bad news, boss?
NATE: Yeah, you could say that. We’re fucked, Abdul. There’s no more money. We were this close to actually turning this thing around, but there’s no telling how long everything’s going to be shut down, and we simply don’t have the cash to keep the company running while we can’t run any shows. It’s over. At this point, it’s all a question of whether or not selling the ring and the title belts – which we never even used – can get us enough to pay the rent we still owe.
ABDUL: Okay, first of all, stop it. We’ve always figured this shit out before, and we’ll figure it out this time. Second of all, you might wanna walk back this “can’t run shows” talk.
NATE: What? Are you crazy!? We’re in a global pandemic! People are dying by the thousands! Have you even seen the news lately?
ABDUL: Well, yeah, but have you seen the news today?
NATE: Not following you.
ABDUL: Ah, shit… Just gimme a minute here…
(Abdul turns on the TV and spends like five minutes positioning the antenna so that something resembling a human can appear on screen for more than three seconds)
NEWS ANCHOR: …And in local newsszzzzgghbrbrbrbbrbr
ABDUL: Goddamn digital bullshit!
(He spends another minute or so moving the antenna to different parts of the room)
ANCHOR: …After Tri-State Area provisional governor “Fast Eddie” Gambino announced-bbbvvvrrxxxnnkkk
ABDUL: Motherfucker!
(more antenna wiggling)
ANCHOR: …ordered local strip clubs and casinos closeddddzzzbbrrbrbrbr… angry mob stormed the governor’s mansskzkzkzkz…
NATE: Wait, what!?
ANCHOR: …burned to the groundzzkzkzk… torn to piecessszzkkzkz… critical conditionnznznz…
(Abdul finally gives up and turns it off, while Nate sits silently, slack-jawed in shock)
NATE: So… What the hell is going on right now? Are we going to die?
ABDUL: No. Well, I mean, eventually, but… Never mind. Look, the government shut down the casinos and strip clubs. And I know you’re from the North End, where people have families and hopes and dreams and all that shit, but here in South Central, that’s all these people have! Gambling, titties, and wrestling, Nate. And now two out of three are gone, and society’s coming apart. Wrestling is the only thing that can save this godforsaken place from itself! We have no choice here. Besides, the old folks’ bingo has been cancelled for the near future, and they’re willing to cut us a deal on rent for the duration.
NATE: Well, okay, but what about the pandemic? What about social distancing?
ABDUL: Shit, have you seen the people that attend our shows? Half of ’em have so much alcohol in ’em that their blood is effectively a sterile solution, and the rest already have so many damn diseases that there’s no room for any more!
NATE: Okay, that sounds like a slight exaggeration, but even if people attend, the wrestlers… Abdul, I’m not going to force the talent into a dangerous situation.
ABDUL: Eh, it won’t come to that. I figure the roster’s an even split between stupid and crazy, and there’s only a couple in high-risk groups, so we should have enough volunteers. If we don’t, we’ll just see who wants to put on a hood and wrestle twice. Besides, back to the audience thing, do you really think any living thing – be it viral, bacterial, or otherwise – could survive in Ross Coke’s bloodstream? Or Reverend Freakout, or PARTY TIGER, or Lil’ Xeljanz, or you know, hell, I could sit here naming people for an hour.
NATE: Okay, fine. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this, but I’ll start making calls to see who’s still willing to wrestle. But just… Man, I dunno, this seems…
ABDUL: Does it seem dangerous, unethical, immoral, and like it can’t possibly end well?
