All right. Here, I want light ukulele strums to accompany the opening credit roll. And for the love of all things holy, can we not skimp on this part? I don’t need much, but let’s not just hand your eight-year old niece an instrument and have you record it on your phone.

 

What? We’re over budget as it is right now? By that much?

 

In that case, let’s just make a guitar and let little Miriam pluck it next to your phone. I’ve got a rectangular Amazon box over there and some paper towel rolls in the cupboard over the fridge. Cut a hole in the big box and attach everything together, then put some fishing line all the way down.

 

DECAFFEINATED FILMS
presents
a film by Abraham E. Lipschitz

 

JAY MAN

(not a parody of Grizzly Man, pretend this text is extremely tiny because it won't let me do it.)

 

Not uncommon to a Black Metal Friends vignette, all that fills the screen is forest. Sticks, pinestraw, the occasional mossy knoll, and a whole lot of trees. Instead this time, there isn’t the visual effect of the greyscale applied to give it that extra “bottomless soul pit” vibe. It’s chartreuse and burnt sienna, clay and pewter. But the most eye-catching color of all in this wooded landscape is blue.

 

A feathered descendent of the dinosaur stands perched on a limb over to the far left, darting its head around every five seconds or so and bellowing out a sharp whistle. Only appropriate that the opening scene of a documentary entitled “Jay Man” has a blue jay in it.

 

The only problem is that it’s not really the focal point of the setting. When we’re talking about the blue in the flush, it’s the subtle message that some punk had decided to spray paint on the robust trunk of one of the pine trees in front of us. Though you may not be sure of its meaning, “NED SUX” certainly serves as an ominous warning to anyone who might venture deeper into the brush.

 

There is one man who has that sense of daring, though. Walking into the view of the shot, Abe “The Last Boy Scout” Lipschitz dons a pair of literal spinach-green Boy Scout shorts and brown boots. We can only assume the rest of the troop has been eaten by a wild animal, and he was only narrowly able to escape due to the beast loving his ensemble. A pink “GRITS: Girls Raised In the South” T-shirt and pink safari hat complimented the rest of his look, really blending into his environment. This rendered the binoculars around his neck completely useless, also due to the vigilant bird warning the other creatures from aloft  that a moron was near. As if they couldn’t see him already.

 

“It’s me, everyone,” Abe introduces, back toward the view of the camera. “Boldly going where no man has set foot in almost three weeks. The inner sanctuary of the woodlands. Is my life in danger? Yes. Every inch of the underbrush I step on may snap a twig that alerts lions, tigers, and bears of their next meal. Sacrificing my own well-conditioned hair and rose-scented skin without any regard for my own safety. Why do I do it? It’s simple.”

 

Abe turns to face the lens and crouches down slowly. “No, it’s not because I’m embarrassed about what happened at ReVival two days ago and need to get away from the Internet making fun of me,” he insists. “That’s like the pyramids, baby: ancient freakin’ history! I haven’t even thought about it more than four or five times today.”

 

“This journey has nothing to do with wrestling, and everything to do with raising awareness about a very important issue,” he continues. “I’m out here on patrol, doing my duty to protect the nearly extinct Cyanocitta crrrrrissstatataatatata. And for those of you who aren’t savvy in the foreign tongue, that’s Italian for the ‘blue jay.’ Oh, and Ned, I wouldn’t bother trying to correct my pronunciation of the word. I listened to someone on YouTube repeat it about a hundred times, so I know how to say it right. Asshole.”

 

The scene cuts to a shot of Abe, back in his bedroom (living room of the apartment) holding his cell phone, replaying the referenced video clip over and over again. As he is sans his hat, it reveals the large white wrapped bandage around the entire top part of his head. The after-effect of having a globe slammed on it, followed by a warm introduction to a ringside table by Brandon Youngblood. Despite the apparent traumatic brain injury, he did get the pronunciation correct, albeit the obnoxious rolling of the r’s and t’s wasn’t included. Sparing us from a continuation of this boring scene, the introduction song picks back up, and is replaced with a close-up image of a blue jay, just standing there doing the same thing. We are then introduced to a new voice within the documentary. A narrator, speaking in a phony German accent with broken English in a terrible attempt to mimic an acclaimed filmmaker.

 

“All of these majestic creatures were filmed by Abraham Lipschitz, who lived among wild blue jays for thirteen hours. Traveling to the most isolated areas of the world, he braved the elements out of a mission to protect this species, predicted by top scientists to become near endangered in the year 4500. While his main job was an actor-slash-profesisonal wrestler, Abe understood the need to inform the public about this dire situation, and do all he can to ensure that this winged predator survived until at least the year 4532.”

 

“And no,” Abe continues, the scene cutting back to the forest, “I’m not out here in some vain attempt to prepare for Culture Shock, either. This video diary is not part of a training montage where I’ll be roughing it to toughen up for the battle royal. PRIME already ripped off Survivor once to determine the tag team champions, and we all saw that’s turning out, huh?”

 

Suddenly, the Babe begins to second guess himself over the comment, remembering who he works for. He scrambles a bit and mutters out an apology. “I mean, I’m not saying that it was a bad idea. If it was Lindsay’s idea, that is.”

 

“However,  through analysis of most of his recorded works, Abraham would often let his recent aggressions from his career path overlap into his preservation efforts. His attempt to achieve harmony and oneness with the blue jay had been shrouded in his repressed rage over his own shortcomings as a hand-to-hand combatist.”

 

Abe sighs and turns his back once again to the camera. Retrieving his binoculars, he crouches back down on a knee and observes his feathered “brother.”

 

 “It was almost as if a kinship had been developed through a common denominator: blue jays aren’t very good at wrestling, either. Although his claims that his venture into the wild unknown was not a flimsy excuse to run away from his problems, it is important for this film to explore the opinions of those closest to him. Friends, colleagues, and even ones who would wish to see him harmed had their own views to share. Some of them all falling into all three of those categories at once.”

 

The narrator’s words prompt a shift to a new scene. It is your typical National Geographic channel commentary shot – a plain darkened background with the subject matter expert seated on a stool and a caption at the bottom revealing their name.

 

MISEREÉ
Roommate, sadist

 

The blond Maiden of Melancholy sits in her usual all-black garb, but something is a little different about her. Even beneath her corpsepaint, there appears to be somewhat of a natural glow emanating from her cheeks. Which honestly makes her that much scarier.

 

“It’s a double-edged battle axe,” she remarks. “On one hand, it’s been a dream come true that he’s not been in the apartment for the past two days and singing the Thomas the Tank Engine theme like he’d been all last week before his match. But on the other hand?”

 

Misereé shakes her head and pounds her knee with her fist in frustration. “I’m happy. Almost to the point of being giddy about it. And I absolutely hate that. Which then makes me happy again because I’m full of rage! It’s too many conflicting emotions.”

 

“Anyway,” she follows up, collecting herself. “He’s not coming back anytime soon, is he? You know what, don’t answer that. I can’t take either right now.”

 

“But not all of Abe’s closest confidants are properly dealing with their feelings. Some cope with his absence by disassociation.”

 

We now see a shot of 

 

SELMA
Roommate, meanie

 

who is seated in the middle of the living room couch, focused on the television set with her hand stuffed in a bowl of popcorn. She too is a little out of character in the environment, sporting fuzzy green footie pajamas and her hair tied up in a bun. All despite still having the grimacing Freddy Kreuger-style horror makeup on her face.

 

While the TV is out of sight, we can hear it fairly clearly, as the Sea Monstress has the volume turned up as loud as it can go.

 

“Well, Rachael,” a male voice rings out, “we have to be careful not to put too much whip cream on the mousse.”

 

“You’re right,” she responds. “Otherwise, it might charge you with its horns!”

 

Laughter erupts from both the television audience as well as SELMA. Bits of kernel fly from her mouth. It’s not really the best time of day to get a comment from her on anything, but this doesn’t stop our narrator who is behind the camera.

 

“What do you think about A…ahhhhh AHHHH AHHHHH!!!!”

 

As SELMA leaps off of the couch with her arms extended and ready to choke the life out of him for interrupting the Rachael Ray Show, the view begins to back up until a lightning-fast turn toward the front door. Then, a free fall and several flips until a loud THUD from the impact of the camera hitting the floor followed by an ear-piercing scream shortly thereafter.

 

The shot blacks out and fades back into the woods. Now, Abe has climbed the tree and sits with his legs hanging down off a branch and observing something in the distance with his binoculars. He pretends to be surprised by the camera and slowly lowers the specs, flashing a toothy grin.

 

“And that’s my story here for me, Abe Lipschitz. The Jay Man, the Blue Mensch. I’ve crossed the halfway point in my quest to protect these creatures. I’ve dug almost a thousand holes to make sure they have plenty of worms to eat,” he boasts. “I’ve made leaf piles for them in case they want a comfortable place to relax after flying around all day. And I wouldn’t even call it going the extra mile, if you want to be frank. Compared to everyone else who claims to want to preserve the bird habitat, you certainly don’t see them out here getting their hands a little dirty. It’s one thing to try to get in the pants of some hot hippie you met at Coachella by telling them you care about the environment. But it’s another thing to actually do something about it.”

 

“Oh well. I’m not in this to be a hero. I do it because I ca…wait, shhhhh, what was that?”

 

Abe’s eyes dart suddenly to his left, grabbing his binoculars and looking out in the distance. His jaw drops as he mouths the words “oh shit,” then leaps off the branch and onto the ground.

 

The camera pans to the left in the direction where he’s looking. Stomping up through the brush is a woman in khaki shorts and a red polo shirt with a whistle positioned between her lips, about twenty yards away from where they currently stand. She blows the shrill instrument, then shouts out to Abe and the operator with authority.

 

“Hey. HEY! I’ve already told you this once before: get off of this property! It’s for paying customers only! PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY!”

 

“Let’s get out of here, Purvis!” Abe cries out, turning and running in the opposite direction off camera. Before our narrator did the same, the camera adjusted slightly to the side of the woman, revealing a yellow flag sticking up in the middle of an elevated greenspace several feet away. A lighter shade of lawn surrounded it, as well as a cart with a large Yeti cooler on the back of it.

 

 

 

A cut back once again to the commentary shot background. Yet another familiar face is there to greet us with some additional insight on Abe’s mission.

 

SCURVY JONES
Renaissance-era mariner, outlet mall sales associate

 

 “Aye, I recall the fortnight young Abraham approached me, needin’ a schooner fer a great voyage to the New World! ‘Savin’ the bluejays,’ said ye, and I was gracious fer the opportunity to be his first mate! I’d not smelled the stink of the ocean’s bowels in months as my captain at Michael Kors had me tacking and sheaving merchandise ‘til the wee hours of the morn’,” Scurvy recalls, scratching his dingy beard with the hook that had replaced his left hand.

 

“The problem with the query was that the New World had no port in sight. Which meant no real way to raise me jib to take us there by water. So, I just boarded the fancy dinghy with the Citrus Porpoise hitched to its stern, turned the silver key into the little hole, and mashed me boot onto the floor. With Abe manning the hull, away we went, yarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”

 

“So you’re saying you just let him sit in the boat while you towed it behind your truck over to the course.”

 

Scurvy remains silent for a moment before looking at the ground dejected.

 

“…aye.”

 

Another cut scene, but this time something much different than our previous scene. There are no blue jays to be found. And to that point, no nature at all except for the flowery bushes that surrounded a large wooden placard signaling the entrance to the Forest View Golf Club.

 

“With the interference of Abraham’s quest to observe and protect the jay, much like his loss to Ned Reform, it sent him back into a downward spiral of anger and strife. Losing all control of his emotions, the following was filmed shortly after being removed from the premises.”

 

“Well, it’s Thursday and we are at the end of our expedition into parts unknown. The jays flying safely up north for the summer, and the gophers burrowing into their holes to camouflage themselves from greenskeepers who would do them harm,” Abe remarks as he walks into the shot. He has removed his ironic t-shirt and appears to be purposefully poking out his chest to appear much more buff and tough than normal. The hat is also off, too, allowing for his hair to waft in the breeze – albeit a little difficult since the bandage wrap around his forehead limits the flow of his black mane.

 

“Yeah, they decided to go on a power trip and kick me out,” he proclaims, “but I’ll be back. They’ve got the jays out here dying by the dozens, taking NO responsibility for preserving their habitat. How dare they! How DARE they label Abe Lipschitz as the enemy. But I don’t care. I will fight them if I have to. Every last one of them. And if anyone in PRIME tries to stand in my way from trying to save these birds? If any of them wish to do these birds harm? I know we’re in a time where wrestling has a resurgence in popularity, but as far as anyone in the Culture Shock Battle Royal is concerned?”

 

Lipschitz, now fired up, begins to pace back and forth toward the camera in an intimidating manner.

 

“FUCK YOU motherfucking rest of the roster…”

 

“Now Lipschitz crosses a line with the rest of the talent in PRIME that we will not cross. It is not that engaging in ‘promo-style’ trash talk is something that is new, but Abraham uses this time to name every single person that is planning to compete in the battle royal, as if that is something that one should do to build hype around the event.”

 

“‘Oh Abe, I saw you on ReVival last night,’” Abe cries out in a mocking tone, imitating someone that we aren’t really sure who, as it’s just a whiny inflection. “‘Ned Reform really put one over on you, huh?’ FUCK YOU…”

 

“It is clear to me that the PRIME roster is not Lipschitz’s true enemy, nor is the staff of the Forest View Golf Club. There is a larger, more terrifying nemesis that plagues his being and threatens to extinguish his life on a daily basis. And no, I’m not talking about SELMA. It is most likely the angel dust that he inhaled during his previous encounter with former Primetime Central pariah Spacely, which turned out not to be PCP at all, but a bunch of caffeine pills crushed up into a fine powder. The introduction of this chemical to his brain from a lifetime of abstinence, as well as his unawareness that it was just caffeine, has him chasing the same high he’d felt when he was able to defeat Jared Sykes. With the loss to his arch nemesis coupled by the incompleteness of his mission to save the blue jays, this has resulted in his own self-confidence being crushed up into a fine powder and snorted by the giant, omnipresent nostrils of Yahweh.”

 

“…and the catering FUCKING sucked in San Antonio, too…”

 

“However, what would ultimately be the unraveling of his goal was not the threat of police involvement if he were to ever trespass on the property again. It was the stray golf ball that was about to hit him only moments from now that cut this documentary short.”

 

“…and I want a new glo…”

 

The frame freezes as a small white object comes soaring in from the top left corner of the screen, mere feet away from striking Abe in the skull.

 

“One cannot help but reflect on the cruel irony of nature due to this tragic turn of events. A round white ball, dropping suddenly from the sky to fall on his head. A metaphor, if you will. Because the golf ball is like bird shit in this situation. Get it?”

 

The exact same reel of the blue jay just kind of standing there looking around ends our narrative. It continues on a loop, rolling the exact same credit reel that we saw at the beginning, only being accompanied by a song. The vocalist sounds a lot like Abe himself, and it’s somewhat surprising that it doesn’t sound too bad. It’s not surprising that the lyrics are pretty terrible, and that PRIME management might be a little pissed off due to the potential of a cease and desist from the Public Broadcasting Service.

 

(To the tune of “Shining Time Station”)

Reach for the mug
Turn on the Keurig
Let the Sanka pour

Spread out your wings
Fly like an angel
Singing as you soar

 

To a blue jay vacation
Unlike apartment
The trees don’t charge rent

 

Not as it seems
An optic illusion
They aren’t really blue

The feathers reflect
Nature’s real awesome
Like a lie that might be true

 

To a blue jay vacation
Unlike apartment
No hawks can come and eat you
And the trees don’t charge rent

They might be extinct
Abe’s gonna save them
Keep them here long term

We should all do our part
It’s 2024 now
Ned’s wife still wears a perm

 

To a blue jay vacation
Unlike apartment
You have your own bedroom
And the trees don’t charge rent

(Cardboard guitar outro)

 

 

 

LINDSAY TROY
Boss, extremely hot

 

“What do you think of (very obvious overdub) Abe Lipschitz?”

 

Every other segment in the film with outside commentary has Purvis, our frumpy narrator with a bad accent, behind the lens asking the questions. Except for this one. He’s right there, front and center. Granted, it’s mostly due to the fact that Purvis and an unknown camera lackey approached Lindsay while collecting her baggage at an airport. Apparently, she was a little too busy to answer a request to be in the film itself. So, Purvis had to pose as a wrestling journalist.

 

Ever the patient executive, Lindsay had been gracious to grant this man some time for the interview. Unbeknownst to her, the clip would be modified before airing. While he had asked her what she thought of someone, the way Purvis’ lips were moving did not resemble the name Abe Lipschitz. We can’t really tell, but it kind of looked like he was saying “Seb Marvin.”

 

“Oh, he’s the absolute best. I adore that man, and I really wish he’d come visit me soon.”