Private: GREAT SCOTT
THAT MOTHERFUCKER SPIT IN MY FACE.
I AM SORRY FOR CUSSING RIGHT AWAY BUT THAT PIECE OF SHIT MUSTACHE HAVING NOT EVEN IN THE TOP FIVE JIVE ASS TURKEY MOTHERFUCKER SPIT IN MY FACE AND THINKS THAT GREAT SCOTT ISN’T GOING TO BREAK A LITTLE SOMETHING OFF IN HIS ASS AT REVIVAL TWELVE?
THINK AGAIN REZIN.
THINK AGAIN TWICE IF YOU NEED TO.
I’M GREAT SCOTT MOTHERFUCKER I AM FIVE AND OH AND YOU MIGHT HAVE A TATTOO OF A MARIJUANA LEAF ON YOUR UNCOMFORTABLY PALE CHEST BUT I CAN PROMISE YOU SIR THAT YOU DO NOT WANT ANY OF THIS SMOKE. HOW DO YOU JUST SPIT IN A MAN’S FACE WHEN HE IS TRYING TO MONOLOGUE SIR WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. MAYBE YOUR PARENTS DIDN’T DIE FROM THE MAFIA BUT THEY ALSO DID NOT TEACH YOU ANY MANNERS SO I GUESS EVEN MY PARENTS ARE BETTER PARENTS THAN YOURS AND THEY ARE IN HEAVEN NOW. MY GHOST DAD CAN BEAT UP YOUR REAL LIFE DAD AND I BET YOUR MOM IS A CAMEL WHO TAUGHT YOU TO SPIT ALL OF THE TIME.
YOU ARE A REAL BITCH MR. REZIN.
I AM SORRY AGAIN FOR THE LANGUAGE BUT I AM MAD NO I AM FURIOUS. I LIKE TO HAVE FUN AND HAVE A BEAR WHO VIBES TO LOW-FI TUNES ON HIS BEATS BY DREADLE HEADPHONES AND I LIKE IT WHEN THE CROWD DOES THE GREAT SCOTT BUT PLEASE DO NOT MISTAKE MY LOVE OF FUN FOR A LOVE OF WEAKNESS BECAUSE I AM THE OPPOSITE OF WEAKNESS AND NOW YOU HAVE REALLY TICKED ME OFF. SO LET’S TALK FOR REAL, REZIN.
WE ARE LIVING IN A PANDEMIC YOU PIECE OF SHIT.
I HAVE BEEN TAKING PANDEMIC TESTS SINCE REVIVAL ONE AFTER ANOTHER BECAUSE I KNOW YOUR PLAN IS TO GIVE ME THE PANDEMIC SO I CANNOT WRESTLE YOU. THAT IS A STUPID PLAN AND IT IS ILLEGAL. YOU CANNOT DO ILLEGAL THINGS IN THE STAR OF DAVID DIVISION BECAUSE GOD IS WATCHING AND HE WILL KILL YOU IN A FLOOD OR MAKE YOU LOSE YOUR TITLE TO ME. YOU ARE THIRTY EIGHT YEARS OLD AND YOU LOOK LIKE YOU ARE SEVENTY SO I WOULD NOT PLAY IT FAST AND LOOSE WITH THE WRATH OF YAHWEH OR PANDEMICS OR BEING ILLEGAL.
WHAT EVEN IS A CRUSTPUNK?
AT REVIVAL TWELVE I WILL TREAT YOU LIKE A PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH AND CUT THE CRUST OFF YOU SO YOU ARE JUST A PUNK. AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A GOAT BUT YOU DO NOT EVEN MAKE MILK OR CHEESE SO YOU ARE EITHER BAD AT BEING A GOAT OR YOU ARE A LIAR. LYING SPITTING CRUSTY GOAT PEOPLE WITH MUSTACHES DO NOT GET TO REPRESENT YAHWEH GOD BY HOLDING HIS CHAMPIONSHIP AND LIKE I SAID TO LOTS OF PEOPLE ON THE STREET WHILE I WAS HOMELESS I THINK IT IS TIME FOR SOME CHANGE.
IT IS TIME FOR A NEW CHAMPION.
MY ENTIRE LIFE I DREAMED OF BEING A CHAMPION MISTER REZIN. FROM THE TIME I WAS A LITTLE TATOR SCOTT I WATCHED WRESTLING ON TV AND I SAID HEY I WISH THAT WAS ME BUT IT WAS NEVER ME. I WAS A JOBBER FOR SO LONG THAT I DID NOT EVEN HEAR MY OWN THEME MUSIC FOR THREE YEARS AND I FORGOT WHAT MUSIC I EVEN PICKED. I LOOKED UP AT SO MANY LIGHTS THAT IF I EVER HAVE A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE I WILL JUST BE WAITING TO HEAR A RING BELL. I HAVE BEEN HOMELESS AND ADDICTED TO NEXT LEVEL CRACK COCAINE AND I HAVE VEEN CUCKED BY LOGAN’S MOM AND I GOT SHOT NINE TIMES AND SURVIVED BUT WAS IN A WHEELCHAIR FOR A YEAR.
AND YOU SPIT ON ME?
IT FELT LIKE BEING SHOT NINE MORE TIMES BUT NOT LITERALLY I GUESS BECAUSE BEING SHOT NINE TIMES IS REALLY REALLY PAINFUL. BUT THIS IS LIKE THAT JUST EMOTIONALLY. I HAVE WORKED SO HARD IN PRIMETIME WRESTLING TO OVERCOME MY PAST AND BECOME A BETTER PERSON AND THEN YOU SPIT IN MY FACE AND KICKED ME IN MY HEAD IN FRONT OF ALL THOSE PEOPLE AND YOU EMBARRASSED ME IN FRONT OF GREAT BEAR WHICH IS THE OPPOSITE OF GREAT.
YOU HUMILIATED ME REZIN.
YOU DISRESPECTED ME.
I FOUGHT AND BEAT NATE COLTON AND ALABAMA THE MISTRESS OF MAYHEM FOR THE RIGHT TO CHALLENGE YOU FOR YOUR TITLE. I HAD MY VERY FIRST SUPERSHOW MATCH EVER AND I GOT A CHANCE TO PROVE THAT I WAS A GREAT WRESTLER IN FRONT OF ALL THOSE PEOPLE ON THAT HUGE STAGE. REVIVAL ELEVEN WAS SUCH A COOL MOMENT FOR ME AND I WAS SO EXCITED TO SHARE A STAGE WITH A REAL CHAMPION AS HIS EQUAL AND THEN YOU DISRESPECTED ME. AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT I LEARNED REZIN I LEARNED THAT I WASN’T SHARING THE RING WITH A REAL CHAMPION AT ALL.
I WAS SHARING IT WITH A LIAR.
I WAS SHARING THE RING WITH A SEVENTY YEAR OLD THIRTY EIGHT YEAR OLD THIRTEEN YEAR OLD BOY. A TODDLER WHO WAS LESS SECURE THAN A VELCRO LUNCH BOX AT FAT CAMP. A SHEEP PRETENDING TO BE A GOAT WHO IS SOFTER THAN COTTON AND DIDN’T HAVE THE HORNS TO BEAT ME IN A FAIR FIGHT. IT TURNS OUT THAT IF I WANT TO SHARE A RING WITH A REAL CHAMPION HERE IN PRIMETIME, I AM GOING TO SHARE THAT RING WITH MYSELF. SO AT REVIVAL TWELVE I MAY NOT BE ALLOWED TO EAT HAM BUT THE TORAH DOES NOT FORBID ME GOING HAM AND THAT IS WHAT I AM GOING TO DO. I AM GOING TO HIT THE SCOTTACANRANA. I AM GOING TO HIT ALL THE SUPLEXES. I AM GOING TO BEAT YOUR LITTLE ASS AND I AM GOING TO BECOME THE STAR OF DAVID CHAMPION AND THEN ON SATURDAY I WILL REST BECAUSE I AM THE NEXT STAR OF DAVID CHAMPION NOT A LITTLE BOY LIKE THE BABY GOAT.
EVERYONE HAVE A GREAT DAY.
EXCEPT FOR REZIN.
HE KNOWS WHAT HE CAN GO DO.
“This is truly a great bevy of cheeses, Young Scott.”
Recently licensed as a certified pro wrestling manager, former Home Depot employee and resident DARK LORD Morty the Mortician stands in amazement at the veritable smorgasbord of fermented dairy product in front of him. It’s a lot of cheese, bro. An entire backpack full of cheese. Picture a backpack. Now picture it full to the brim with generic looking, vaguely orange cheese. Now picture that the backpack is very large.
I think you get it.
Slinging the backpack off his back, as one does, GREAT SCOTT tosses it onto the ancient looking apothecary table in the center of Morty’s lair.
Don’t tell Rachel that it came from IKEA.
Morty stares at the bounty, low key impressed.
MORTY: Praytell, Young Scott, where did you obtain cheese quantities of this magnitude? And of what variety are they? Cheddar? Goat? Bleu?
You might think it’s goat cheese, but that’s not the bit. GREAT SCOTT hastily begins to unload the plastic packaged cheese across the table, setting each of them up under individual pieces of paper with labeled days of the week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.
You understand the days of the week, we can move on.
GREAT SCOTT: GOVERNMENT.
There is a quiet shame in the eyes of the number one contender to the Five Star Championship, as he avoids the gaze of his manager. He quietly stacks the cheese under each day of the week, a sort of dairy-focused meal planning.
MORTY: Government cheese? From what animal does one obtain government cheese? A donkey? An elephant, perhaps?
Our hero doesn’t smile. He doesn’t even look up. Just keeps stacking plastic ass cheese up on the table.
MORTY: These are jokes, you see. Why are you not amused?
But there’s nothing to be amused about.
Two weeks ago, GREAT SCOTT was living under an underpass on a piss stained mattress, wondering where life went wrong. There might be a roof over his head now thanks to Morty the Mortician, but waiting in a hot line for government cheese is not exactly the most morale-boosting activity in the world, and every day can’t be a Burger King buffet.
GREAT SCOTT: I HAVE LIVED SUCH A WASTEFUL LIFE MORTY. I LIVED IN A HOUSE SO BIG THAT I NEVER EVEN SAW EVERY BEDROOM. AND HUMMER LIMOS ARE VERY COOL BUT THEY ARE NOT GREAT FOR THE ENVIRONMENT. AND NOW LOOK AT ME. I AM MEAL PLANNING WITH GOVERNMENT CHEESE AND GREAT BEAR IS PIRATING SONGS ON HIS IPOD BECAUSE WE CANNOT AFFORD NEW LOW FI TUNES. I HAVE TURNED GREAT BEAR TO A LIFE OF CRIME MORTY.
He shakes his head, tilting the backpack upside down and emptying the last of the cheese out onto the table.
GREAT SCOTT: MORTY… AM I… AN IDIOT?
With a distinct sadness in his eyes, GREAT SCOTT looks up at his mentor and stifles back his emotions, trying to be a real man. Can’t let the Dark Lord see you cry, that’s basically rule one of being friends with a Dark Lord.
It’s a rare moment of self awareness.
He never felt stupid when he was smoking next level crack cocaine in a forty story cardboard box. He never felt stupid when Logan’s mom tricked him into raising two African American children by convincing him that they were his and were just born very tan. He didn’t even feel stupid when he carried a nondescript championship belt to the ring for three years, and called himself the champion with literally no merit behind it whatsoever. But now, staring down the barrel of a life decision that forced GREAT BEAR to eat plastic cheese and go to war with the DMCA?
He feels like an utter fucking moron.
Morty puts a consoling hand on SCOTT’s shoulder.
MORTY: Young Scott, behold the truth. Once upon a time, I was the champion of the world. Playing fast and loose with every succubus in the nine circles. Wagering my soul against Satan himself time and again, and reveling in the spoils of my undead victories. And do you know what happened?
The sullen SCOTT looks up at him hopefully.
GREAT SCOTT: IT ALL FELL APART AND YOU HAD TO EAT GOVERNMENT CHEESE BUT THEN YOU TURNED IT ALL AROUND WITH ONE VICTORY OVER A GOAT MAN?
The Dark Lord softly shakes his head.
MORTY: No, Scott. I quit the business, unloaded trucks at a Home Depot until they promoted me to cutting lumber, my wife Susan left me for a stock broker, and took my undead dog Lucy.
GREAT SCOTT: OH. WHAT A TERRIBLE STORY.
An awkward silence fills the lair, as though someone just asked a question like “what qualities does Rezin possess that make him a great champion?” or someone farted but no one wants to make it weird and acknowledge it.
Eventually, someone has to speak.
MORTY: Bad things happen to good people, Young Scott. This is the universal truth. Billionaires reign supreme from their thrones of corruption, while men like us are born to suffer. You are not an idiot, Scott Gratesburgh. You are one who was born too pure for this world. I know where my life went wrong… and I can help you stop it from happening to you, too.
GREAT SCOTT: WHY DID YOUR LIFE GO WRONG MORTY IS IT BECAUSE YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL TO THE DEVIL BECAUSE THAT SOUNDS LIKE A GOOD WAY TO END UP AT HOME DEPOT.
Placing a hand on each of GREAT SCOTT’s shoulders, Morty the Mortician looks deep into the eyes of his protégé. There are a multitude of emotions behind the windows to SCOTT’s soul— sadness, and fear, and shame. Wounded pride, and desperation for hope. There is so much potential in this young man.
And yet so much he’s never learned.
MORTY: No, Scott Gratesburgh. It was not my deal with Satan that forsook me. It was me who forsook my deal with Satan. Cast myself from his favor, and watched as all of the things that meant most to me slowly dissipated into the black mists. It was not the love of the Prince of Darkness that ruined my life.
His gaze intensifies.
MORTY: …it was the absence of it.
Their eyes are locked, almost in some kind of trance, but suddenly GREAT SCOTT pulls away, abruptly. He violently shakes his head no, yanking himself free.
GREAT SCOTT: MORTY IS THIS SOME KIND OF BEACHBODY PYRAMID SCHEME WITH THE DEVIL BECAUSE I DO NOT WANT TO RECRUIT FIVE PEOPLE AND BECOME A SATANIC BOSS BITCH I LOVE YAHWEH GOD AND I AM HIS CHAMPION.
Morty frowns, the disappointment palpable in his expression. This could very quickly become an awkward roommate situation.
MORTY: Not yet, Scott Gratesburgh. You are not yet anyone’s chosen champion. You are a man who has won five matches in a company that employs a mannequin. Where was your God when you were sleeping under an overpass? Where was your God when you were catfished by Treacherous Trent? Remind me, Young Scott, was it your GOD who rescued you from homelessness, with a veritable feast of burgers and the promise of a new start?
Swallowing hard, GREAT SCOTT takes a big step backward, looking around the lair for anything to distract him from the words that are coming out of Morty’s mouth.
Because they make sense.
There is sweat upon the brow of the number one contender. And not the delicious meat sweats of all you can eat burgers, either— the sweats of a man who is experiencing a crisis of faith.
GREAT SCOTT: GOD PUNISHED JOB AS A TEST OF HIS FAITH AND TO SHOW THE DEVIL THAT—
MORTY: YOUR GOD OF LIES DID NOT MAKE YOU JOB, SCOTT, HE MADE YOU A JOB-BER. HE CARES NOT FOR YOU. MOCKS YOUR LOVE FOR HIM AND USES YOUR BAD FORTUNE FOR COMEDIC RELIEF. YOU ARE NOTHING BUT—
Before Morty can finish his very loud sermon beneath the mount, his face recoils as GREAT SCOTT slaps him across the mouth with an open hand. The stinging sound resonates and reverberates off the walls of the lair, dwarfed only by the hot, shocking pain that echoes through Morty’s skull.
GREAT SCOTT: IT ISN’T THE PENTAGRAM OF DAVID CHAMPIONSHIP MORTY AND YOU ARE TRYING TO CORRUPT ME. I WILL NEVER GROW A MUSTACHE AND I THINK MAYBE THIS WAS A BIG MISTAKE AND I NEED TO GO LIVE ON THE STREET AGAIN. YAHWEH GOD’S LOVE WILL KEEP ME WARM.
In a flurry, GREAT SCOTT snatches his backpack up off the floor, stuffing his government cheese back into the sack as quickly as he can. There are tears in his eyes, as he realizes that he’s never been anything more than a vessel for Morty. The burgers were a lie. The lair was a lie. Every minute of every day that he’d thought Morty the Mortician was his friend… all a lie. He zips the backpack up, throwing it over his back as he heads for the crypt door that leads back to the world above.
And then suddenly, he stops.
GREAT SCOTT: OH NO.
In one corner of the lair, GREAT BEAR is sitting alone, sadly vibing to stolen low-fi tunes on his sweet Beats by Dreadle headphones. In his meaty, majestic paws, he is holding a single chunk of old, stagnant government cheese and nibbling on it.
He looks so hungry.
GREAT SCOTT stares at his best friend, air trapped in his throat as he tries desperately to swallow. Slowly, his eyes travel back to Morty, and then back to GREAT BEAR. And then back to Morty, and then back to GREAT BEAR. In all their years together, the one being on this planet who has never left his side, or doubted him, or judged him, was GREAT BEAR. A brother. A life partner. A best friend. And there he sits, on the verge of starvation, eating a handful of government cheese and trying to make it last. Never complaining. Never abandoning the cause. Never questioning his best friend in the world. And now, he was going to take the roof from over GREAT BEAR’s head?
His shoulders slump.
He sets the backpack down.
GREAT SCOTT: YOU CAN HELP ME ACHIEVE MY DREAMS, MORTY? I HAVE TO… I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF MY FRIEND.
A slow smile creeps over the face of Morty the Mortician, as he rests a comforting arm around GREAT SCOTT’s shoulder.
MORTY: Rest easy, Young Scott. If you do not like what I have to say, you are still welcome to remain in my home. I just want to talk. Is that okay?
Slowly and softly, GREAT SCOTT nods his head.
His best friend can’t go hungry.
GREAT SCOTT: OKAY BUT CAN WE ORDER CHINESE FOOD BECAUSE GREAT BEAR NEEDS SOME CHINESE FOOD.
A smile from Morty.
MORTY: Your terms are acceptable, Scott Gratesburgh. Follow me into the darkness. There will be egg rolls.
HI GUYS ITS ME SCOTT.
I HOPE YOU ARE HAVING A GREAT DAY AND ENJOYED OUR ADVENTURE. THIS ONE WAS REALLY A DOOZY AND IT HAS BEEN A CRAZY COUPLE OF WEEKS. FIRST I WAS RICH AND THEN I WAS HOMELESS AND NOW I HAVE LEFT YOU HANGING OFF A CLIFF WHERE YOU ARE WONDERING WHAT HAPPENED AND IF ME AND MORTY HAD A GOOD TALK OR A BAD TALK. AND I KNOW YOU ARE PROBABLY WONDERING IF I MADE A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL AND THAT IS A FAIR QUESTION. UNFORTUNATELY I DO NOT REALLY HAVE TIME TO ANSWER IT RIGHT NOW BECAUSE MY PHONE IS PREPAY NOW AND I AM RUNNING OUT OF WORDS BEFORE I HAVE TO REFILL MY DATA PLAN.
PLEASE KNOW THAT WHATEVER HAPPENS AT REVIVAL 12 I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND I AM SO HAPPY THAT YOU HAVE BEEN WITH ME ON MY JOURNEY. THIS HAS BEEN THE BEST PART OF MY WHOLE CAREER HERE IN PRIMETIME GOING FIVE AND OH AND I HAVE LOVED HEARING YOU CHEER FOR ME EVERY WEEK. WE HAVE LAUGHED AND CRIED AND NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENED WE DID NOT EAT ANY HAM.
BUT AT REVIVAL WE EAT GOAT.
REZIN I AM READY FOR YOU. I AM READY FOR THIS CHAMPIONSHIP. NOT JUST FOR ME BUT FOR GREAT BEAR BECAUSE I WILL NOT LET YOU TAKE FOOD OUT OF HIS MOUTH I JUST WON’T. HE IS MY BEST FRIEND AND I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR HIM. ANYTHING. I WOULD KILL A MAN REZIN. I WOULD LITERALLY KILL A MAN SO THAT HE NEVER HAD TO FEEL AN OUNCE OF PAIN. SO WHETHER IT IS THE VOICE OF YAHWEH GOD OR THE HANDS OF THE DEVIL THAT ARE WITH ME AT REVIVAL JUST KNOW THAT I AM LEAVING WITH YOUR CHAMPIONSHIP. I AM GOING TO BE THE STAR OF DAVID CHAMPION AND I AM GOING TO REBUILD WHAT I LOST AND YOU CAN SPIT ON ME ALL YOU WANT REZIN.
BECAUSE I AM GREAT FUCKING SCOTT.
AND I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU.