There Must Be Loads Of Gear Guys In A Party Town Like This
The camera cuts outside the MGM Grand Garden Arena where it spots a man in full pirate regalia shouting at passersby. As we zoom in closer, the voice and the face become more recognizable. Beneath his bandana and dreadlock wig, it’s Jonathan Rhine recent PRIME returnee and Almasy Invitational second round qualifier, Garbage Bag Johnny.
GBJ: Ahoy, mateys! Get a selfie with me, everyone’s favorite Hollywood pirate! Five crossbones for one selfie or ten for two!
Passersby, as they do best, pass by, ignoring GBJs marketing plea. Even as he sways about wildly, swinging an open bottle of rum around, sloshing liquor on himself.
GBJ: Avast ye! You don’t want to miss out on the best deal on the high seas, ya salty barnacles! A memory that lasts a lifetime for merely coin! Why that’s a bargain if I’ve seen one!
Johnny swigs the bottle, stumbling left and right looking for takers as pedestrian traffic separates into semi-circles around him. However, there’s one group approaching him from behind. It’s Marvel’s Avengers, flanked around a regularly dressed man with a dark, shampoo commercial quality, shoulder-length mane and meticulously applied eyeliner.
Uncostumed Man: That’s him!
GBJ turns on a dime and sizes up the situation, noting he’s outnumbered by superheroes–or at least men and women dressed like superheroes. Immediately, he turns back on that dime and runs…
BOOM!
Right into the outstretched, green haymaker of an Incredible Hulk impersonator. It knocks GBJ flat on his ass.
Uncostumed Man: That’s the guy who stole my costume! Get him!
Spiderman, Iron Man, Captain America–the whole lot of them–swarm Johnny to hold him down and battle back his attempts to escape. They rip off his pirate gear as he protests.
GBJ: I didn’t steal it! I was going to give it back! Scout’s honor!
But it’s too late, GBJ is left on his hands and knees, battered and bare, save for his skivvies. The Avengers return the Pirates of the Caribbean costume to its rightful owner who takes a victorious swig of the rum before spitting in Johnny’s direction and turning away with his troupe of characters.
Recostumed Man: Come on, guys. Our work here is done.
As they leave, the camera returns to GBJ, who lets out a few pained coughs before maneuvering himself into a seated position out on the curb. As he slumps his head, the camera notices another PRIME wrestler walking the footways outside the MGM Grand Arena, none other than The Anglo Luchador
TAL: I can’t believe I lost half my match payout from last week playing craps, all except for this one chip worth fifty cents.
He notices Johnny on the ground without recognizing him at first.
TAL: I’ll pay it forward. Here bud, take this, maybe you’ll win some money to be able to eat. Hell, at least they’ll give you a free drink.
He flicks the chip, and it hits Johnny on the top of his head. He looks up.
GBJ: The heck…
TAL: Wait, you’re not a homeless guy… you’re my opponent next week. Well, you are homeless but…
GBJ: Hey, I’m not THAT homeless. I could use a drink though. The Avengers stole my rum.
Johnny motions towards the direction that the costumed street performers went, but they’re no longer within sight. As The Anglo Luchador looks off in the distance, his expression indicates that he has no idea what Johnny’s talking about, even behind the mask. Garbage Bag notices the mask and scurries to his feet, taking a cautious step back from the luchador.
GBJ: Wait a minute, you’re not one of them, are you? I swear, they took all I had already, except…uh…this coin!
GBJ holds out the casino chip that TAL just flipped at him.
TAL: Them? Like, uh… an alien? No, this is a mask; I’m a luchador. Hence the name, The Anglo Luchador.
Garbage Bag nods. It’s not apparent whether or not he knows what the words Anglo or Luchador mean, but that’s really besides the point.
GBJ: Aliens? No, not this time. There was a big green guy and some viking with a hammer and a guy with a big shield–he had a mask on, too. And there was some guy in a metal suit. He might’ve been an alien. The point is, some of them had masks and some didn’t. I apologize if I’ve made any sweeping generalizations about people who wear masks. That wasn’t my intention. Very nice mask, by the way.
TAL: Thank you. It was crafted by the most skilled artisans in nylon from the cloth forges in the ruins of Tenochtitlan.
Johnny looks at the old luchador like he has five heads.
TAL: Okay, my gear guy is the best in the biz.
The clarification removes a few of the heads that GBJ is looking at TAL like he has. After all, this guy doesn’t SOUND Australian. Still, better to be thorough.
GBJ: So your gear guy makes masks, too, eh? Sounds like a one-stop shop. Any chance you could hook me up?
TAL: I could, but uh, the whole Derelicte-chic thing you got going is so you. Like, I wouldn’t dream of seeing you in anything but… well, not in that…
The old luchador points to Johnny’s lack of clothing outside of his underwear.
TAL: But like, y’know, the tattered rags? That works for you!
Garbage Bag Johnny turns to the side, stroking his beard as he delivers somewhat of a soliloquy. However, since this isn’t a play, his external monolog is audible to those around him.
GBJ: Think of all the things you could do if you just had a mask, Johnny. You could infiltrate that group of superheroes and get your rum back. You could distract everyone’s attention away from your near-nudity. They’ll all be too busy looking at the mask. Hell, is this Anglo guy even wearing pants? I have no idea. You gotta convince this guy to give you a lead on a mask.
Garbage Bag breaks from his side conversation with himself and refocuses on The Anglo Luchador.
GBJ: How about that? You are wearing pants. Anyway, maybe your gear guy has some extra tattered rags? Or I could probably scrounge up some regular rags if your guy could tatter them for me.
The old luchador gives some facsimile of That Famous Eyebrow That One Wrestler-Turned-Actor Does, You Know The One. You have to take my word for it because he’s wearing a mask, but he’s really doing it.
TAL: What’s your game, Johnny boy? Are you trying to get into my head with tactics by grilling my gearmaker? Because lemme tell ya, bud, I fell for that once in Toluca before the GCLL Aniversario del Oro Show in 2006. Never again.
Johnny looks on, puzzled.
TAL: GCLL? Gran Consejo de Lucha Libre? Third oldest lucha libre company in Mexico? You know what, forget it, I’m onto you, Garbage Man.
GBJ launches into a brief and aside with himself again.
GBJ: Yep. Definitely Australian. I know how to handle this.
Aside over.
GBJ: You know what, mate? I may have a roo loose in the top paddock, but you’re the one carrying on like a pork chop. You don’t have to tell me where you get your gear. That’s fine. There must be loads of gear guys in a party town like this. I’ll find my own guy.
TAL: Did you land on your head? I haven’t heard someone speak that much gibberish since… oh no, you think I’m Australian, don’t you?
The old luchador’s eyes lock onto Johnny.
TAL: I thought I only had to beat you to save lucha libre here in America. Now it’s clear. I have to avenge this SLANDER. Good day to you, sir.
The Anglo Luchador walks off in a huff, leaving Johnny behind. Johnny waits until The Anglo Luchador is out of earshot before flipping the casino chip in the air and catching it.
GBJ: That guy seems pretty determined. Maybe I’ll bet it all on him to win his next match.
Garbage Bag tries to enter the MGM Grand, but he’s quickly stopped by a security guard who stops him from entering the venue in nothing but his tighty whities. The camera cuts back to inside the arena.