This is a Thing I Wrote For You to Read

I. THE FIRST TIME START OF THE BEGINNING OF THINGS

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November 3, 1996

OR IS IT?

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He was born in a small room, in a small building, on the coast of a small village in Florida called “MIAMI”.

Our scene opens on two midwives hunched over a woman who is screaming her head off. The room has wood panels on the walls, the kind you see in a mobile home in a John Carpenter movie. Usually the occupants of said mobile home eventually die a gruesome death. This is where our hero was born.

“Push!”

Oh, and everything is sepia tone for some reason.

“BREATHE! BEAR DOWN! BREATHE! BEAR DOWN!”

Before you know it, there is a baby’s cry filling the air, and one of the women pulls back. In her arms is the most adorable baby you’ve probably ever seen, based on many well sourced articles. He is eight pounds, twelve ounces, and has the head and face of a fully grown man. Scott Hunter. It is Scott Hunter’s face.

“His name is Scott,” his mother says.

“Goo goo, gah gah,” he says, in a smooth baritone voice.

The midwives smile, marveling at the advanced use of language and his fully grown beard. One of the midwives thinks that the beard must have really hurt during delivery, and she looks at the mother, but she doesn’t say this out loud, because it’s a weird observation.

“Scott!”

“Yes mother?” The baby replies.

“My only son… other than your four brothers… you are my gift to the world… you are handsome, athletic, talented, wise…”

There is a pause.

“You are handsome, athletic and talented. Go and save them. Go and save them all…”

She looks at him as the overwhelming stress and pain of delivery begins to overwhelm the adrenaline and heavy dose of nerve blockers injected during the epidural. With a wisp of sadness, a single tear falls from each eye.

Her mouth opens and she begins to say something, but instead she falls limp, her tongue hangs from the side of her mouth like a dog that has been hit by a garbage man, and her eyes close, replaced by a large letter “X” on each eyelid.

Her ghostly spirit rises from her body playing a harp, and it floats away heavenward, as the midwives keep their attention on the newborn baby man in their arms. He looks back up at them and smiles, then winks at the taller one, because she’s kind of a hottie.

She blushes, then pulls out a small piece of paper.

“Oops!,” she says, as the paper falls from her hand and floats down, and is caught by the baby in his mouth. Scott holds the paper in his teeth and we can clearly see it is the midwife’s phone number. She mouths “call me.” He smirks back, excited to go on his second date (His first was in the womb. It’s a long story.)

“Okay, cut, cut, cut…. What is this?”

Suddenly the lights come up. The midwives, who are actually two reasonably talented actresses at the local regional theater company, stand up, their concentration broken. The baby, Scott Hunter, stands up, revealing himself as the fully grown Scott Hunter. Scott Hunter’s friend and close confidant probably, Craig Massey is waving a piece of paper around in annoyance.

“This is what you want people to know about where you came from, Scott? A small village called Miami? Had your first date in the womb?”

He waves the actresses away and they start to walk out of frame. The hot one looks back over her shoulder, eyeing Scott up and down as she goes, because that part of the story was legitimately true.

Scott tears away the silly baby man costume and tosses it asunder, even though he doesn’t know what that word actually means.

“Craig, I really don’t see your point.”

“Well,” Craig replies. “For one thing pretty much none of this is true.”

Scott blinks.

“My birthdate is real… I think.”

Craig sighs deeply.

“Listen I know I’ve sat through your endless delusional little skits in the past, and I know they served you well, for the most part, other than that unfortunate incident with those old ladies at the bingo hall.”

Scott interjects, wagging his finger angrily. “I HAD A LEGITIMATE BINGO AND YOU KNOW IT!”

Craig grunts. “Anyway, my point is that after the last company you worked for went out of business…”

“Yes,” Scott nods. “It was a Classic example of how hard it is to run a wrestling company these days.”

He looks off, contemplative, and Craig ignores him entirely.

“When they went out of business, I had hoped when I got you signed to PRIME, we could have a new start and maybe start to get a little more serious with your wrestling career. Instead you’re still doing these ridiculous skits….”

”AND WHY ARE WE STILL IN SEPIA TONE?!?”

Scott steps forward, shaking his head slightly like a father comforting a son who just stubbed his toe, and places a hand on Craig Massey’s shoulder.

“Look Craig, here’s the thing. I don’t know why you would want me to ignore everything I accomplished in… that other place. I won six whole matches while I was working there. SIX! How many other people can say that??”

Craig looks up at him.

“Something like ten or eleven other people can say that, actually.”

Scott raises his index finger forcefully. “Yes, but not twelve.”

“Uhh… what?” Craig is incredulous.

Scott waves it off.

“Listen, nevermind. The point is simply this. I would never ever just ignore my slightly above .500 record and pretend like I’m some green behind the knee rookie…”

Craig frowns. “Green behind the knee…?”

And again, Scott ignores him.

“…and act like I don’t know what I’m doing. I am a superstar in the making, Craig! Have you seen the many moves I have innovated??”

“Scott,” Craig breathes in deeply. “For the last time, you did not innovate arm drags, hip tosses or the figure four leg lock.”

Scott squares up to Craig and glares down at him.

“How dare you? You know good and well the story of how I traveled to that terrible, terrible place. Nothing but desolate wastes and fierce beasts. And the poor little Oompa Loompas were so small and helpless, they would get gobbled up right and left. A Wangdoodle would eat ten of them for breakfast and think nothing of it. And so, I said, ‘Come and live with me in peace and safety, away from all the Wangdoodles, and Hornswogglers, and Snozzwangers, and rotten, Vermicious Knids. Also, I have invented a wrestling move called a figure four leg lock. Here is how you do it.’”

The statement hangs in the air. Scott looks off into the distance with a very satisfied smile.

Craig Massey stares right at him and time seems to stop, or at least move very very slowly. After a moment he realizes he is dumbfounded beyond the capacity to speak, and then, he finds the words.

“What…. The HELL are you talking about?? Oompa Loompas??? Teaching the figure four leglock?? What rubbish is that??”

Scott holds up his hand.

“I’m sorry, but all questions *must* be submitted in writing.”

Craig throws up his hands. “That’s from the movie, too! You copied it word for word!”

“Did not!,” Scott replies.

“Did so!,” Craig retorts.

“Did not!,” Scott says.

“YOU DID SO!,” Craig emphatically declares.

“Ok I did.” Scott finally acquiesces. “But that movie was based on my actual life!”

Craig Massey begins to rub his temples, because a big headache is coming on. He looks around. Everyone else on this small set is already gone except for a lone cameraman.

“Look, can we just go? This was… you know… great and all, but I’d really like to take you to meet with someone who can possibly, maybe actually help you to become a better wrestler in PRIME.”

Scott’s eyebrows furrow and he looks thoroughly confused. Craig looks back at him, getting more annoyed by the second.

“You know… PRIME… the company you’re working for now??”

A flash of recognition goes across Scott’s face.

“Oh right!! PRIME! I love PRIME! I usually drink the Blue Raspberry, but Orange Mango is pretty good, too. Sometimes I’ll have the Tropical Punch, but I try to go easy on that one because of all the punching involved. But yes, this has to be the best endorsement deal you’ve managed to get for me yet. I bet I can get free drinks whenever I want…”

Craig pauses, turns to leave, then pauses again and looks back at his young protege’.

“It’s not PRIME the energy drink. It’s PRIME the wrestling company. You know, wrestling? That thing you do for a living??”

Scott stares back. “Ok I guess I could drink the Lemon Lime, but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“I give up,” Craig says as he turns to finally walk away. “Listen, I’ll give you a call later this evening and we can go over strategy. I’m uh… gonna go pour myself a nice stiff drink.”

Craig disappears and Scott Hunter stands, hands on his hips like Peter Pan, lost in his lack of thought.

This is our hero.

This is our boy.

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II. LIAR

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Hello my fellow Primates! I mean… PRIMEates! It is I, Scott Hunter coming to you live from a very nice hotel right here in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I know you cannot actually see the room, but trust me it is very nice, probably the room with the best view in all of Pittsburgh in the category of hotels $50 per night and under. I can actually see the river, the baseball stadium, the football stadium, Mount Washington, a burger place that has really good burgers, the zoo, the airport, Franco Harris, and several homeless people in the alley who pee on the hour like clockwork. They are exactly like Old Faithful, even though they don’t look that old. It must be a figure of speech.

Now you may wonder how it is possible that I can see all of those landmarks from one very fancy budget hotel. Well, that’s because you are dumb.

I can see all of it, and you can’t prove otherwise, so I suggest you shut up, and if you still don’t believe me I will see you in court.

Now then, allow me to talk about my opponent this week for just a few minutes.

I have been working and training tirelessly for no less than thirty minutes per day and I am absolutely ready to step into that ring and make my mark on the wrestling business. My opponent, and let me be very clear about this, is a dirty rotten liar.

A liar.

You hear me??

Liar.

You have two names.

TWO NAMES!!

Who is Mortimer Kjedelig?? Who is C. Montgomery Byrnes?? Do you even know? Does anybody know? And what the hell is a Kjedelig? Is that one of those little meat pies they sell in Croatian bakeries?? IS IT? I CAN’T EAT BEEF!! You are clearly trying to poison me with beef and I definitely will not stand for that, or sit, or even lean a little bit.

Oh, you better believe that someone who would cook up such a dastardly plot simply cannot be trusted. And why do you spell Byrnes that way?? Where’s the U??? WHERE IS THE U? Listen you can’t just change the letters in the words. That’s not how the English language works and you can look that up on Google.

I don’t know why you wear a mask. I don’t know if you have some terrible scars or you were just born ugly. Did you kill a luchador to win that mask?? You may be guilty of stolen valor. I will have to do some more research about this, or maybe just ask a guy. Either way, I’m getting to the bottom of your deception!

And by the way, PAL. You may consider yourself something of a mysterious figure in that get-up, but let me tell you something right now.

YOU FIX THAT LEAK IN YOUR ROOF!!

Did you hear me?

LEEEEEEAAAAAKKKKK!!!!

FIX.

THE.

DAMN.

LEAK.

Now, having said all of that there is one area where we might be able to find some common ground. You love romantic comedies. I love romantic comedies. The only thing I need to know is… are you a J.Lo guy or a Sandra Bullock guy??

I myself am going with Sandy all day long. That wildcat can charm the socks off of any man, and they all come running to her side as soon as she turns on the charm, even without their socks on.

But look, just because we can presumably bond over the heartwarming tales shown on the Hallmark Channel or Turner Classic Movies doesn’t mean that I will go easy on you this week. I will punch you in the face super hard, then kick you a lot, then probably punch you again, then finish you off with the series of moves I invented. Arm Drag/Hip Toss/Figure Four Leg Lock!

That is called chain wrestling, but do not be confused by the phrase “chain wrestling.” I will not actually be using a chain, because I am not a dirty rotten no good cheater like you are.

Don’t you dare use a chain on me, you understand?? Or I will write the most strongly worded letter that anyone has ever seen and post it in Reddit, Tik Tok, Instagram, Prodigy, America Online and CompuServe, and I don’t know what some of those even are!! But I’ll still do it!!

You just wait until we get in the ring, buddy.

You are going to get thrashed.

This might be the very end for you, but it is going to be a great beginning for me. Forever and ever, when people think of Scott Hunter, they will think of the time that Scott Hunter made you submit in the middle of the ring, and they won’t even remember you at all, not your name, not your record and not your stupid stupid face.

Everyone will see C. Montgomery get Byrned!

That is a clever joke right there. If you don’t get it, it’s because you have no imagination and probably have bad breath too.

EAT A TIC-TAC, MUTHAF—

Sorry, I got overheated there for a second.

I’ll go drink some water, take a nap, and probably watch a little TV, but when I’m done, I will march right down to the ring and put an end to your poor spelling once and for all. YOU HEAR ME?

ALL!

Au Revoir.