[MINNEAPOLIS] (3) High Flyer vs. (6) Fusenshoff

[TH]

Second round match held the Hammons Sports Center on Missouri State's campus in Springfield, MO. One fall to a finish, no time limit.

No RP limit, all regular RP rules apply, deadline is Sunday, April 6 at 11:59:59 PM EDT, give or take a second.

 

[Ford]

(FADE IN: INT. LOCAL CAFE -- DAYTIME)
High Flyer and Tony Davis, aka the tandem of Team V.I.A.G.R.A., sit in the booth of a local coffee shop. Flyer is dressed in Eagles garb, as Davis wears a much more sleaker and shiny black shirt. They each are drinking coffee. Flyer is spinning a cigarette in his hands.)

High Flyer: You ever look into the vortex that is Windows Media Player when you play an audio file and feel you're so close to cracking the meaning of all life on this earth.

Tony Davis: No. But sometimes I see a sail boat.

(Davis catches eyes with the Waitress, who walks over and rips the check out of her tablet. She reaches over and lightly grazes Tony Davis' hand as she places the check on the table. She quickly turns and walks away.

Tony turns to Flyer, who's seen it all.)

Tony Davis: So I'm not ordering the waffles again.

High Flyer: Dude.

Tony Davis: You tried em.

High Flyer: I'm not talking about their crappy waffles. What the **** was that?

Tony Davis: Would you understand if I said the mating ritual? Oooh, She's signaling for a nooner.

(Davis quickly exits the booth without another word. Flyer's eyes simply go wide in disbelief. Quickly, TEAM's cameras descend on him, like vultures on a corpse.

Flyer looks at TEAM's cameras out of the corner of his eye, but turns back to Davis, who has disappeared into the kitchen area. Flyer blinks.)

High Flyer: You guys again, huh? That time is it? Man, Tony's not used to these rp cameras, rushing up at you like the ****ing paparazzi. Do you guys have to go to camera school or something?

TEAM Cameraman: Uh, I went to film school for four years.

High Flyer: You know you wasted your life then and you're wasting your life now, don't you?

TEAM Cameraman: Oh yeah. I'm fine with it.

High Flyer: ... So are we rolling? Kickstart that baby. Let's do it to it. Rat-tat-tat-ta-dum-pa-rump-pump-pah!

(Flyer smacks the table in a drum roll as he goes.)

High Flyer: And so, Minneapolis gets to experience the insanity that is the greatest high flyer this sport has SEEN! I wouldn't have tattooed something like that on my body if it wasn't true. I'm not the pompous sort. No siree.

(A bus boy walks up and hands Flyer a shining box.)

Bus Boy: You're crapes, in your box made of gold sir.

High Flyer: Thank you serf.

(The bus boy stares confused and quickly leaves.)

High Flyer: Fusenhoff! Hmmmm... I can't think of anything except David Hasselhoff, and I know for a fact that's the least original thing you could think of. Give me a moment. We can edit this later, yes'um? You're a film student, you know 'bout all that craziness. Oh, if you guys could, could you put a dragon behind me, blowing fire and just wrecking the place? I think that'd be awesome.

(Flyer pauses, and taps his fingers on the table.)

High Flyer: Is the dragon there yet?

(Flyer looks behind, over his shoulder, and scoffs.)

High Flyer: It's never gonna show.

(Flyer sighs.)

High Flyer: FUSENHOFF~! FUUUUUUSEEEEEEEEEENNNHOOOOOOOFFFF! I swear to GOD I sincerely doubt the validity of your name. I know it's not what's on your birth certificate, but that's fine with me. I mean, I'm not called High Flyer everywhere I go... although all my fans call me that wherever I go... Hmm... where do I begin and where does Flyer end? Ha. Trippy. You should take acid, open up your mind. Yet even after four tabs I couldn't figure out what you're freaking name meant. My mind was STILL left without answers. And that's with the power of way too much acid! I thought it was a sure thing! I thought I'd find clarity. The only thing I figured out was that life was a video game... which turns out, video games are video games.

You know, I just... It's the only thing I ask for. Please. Fusenhoff... what exactly DOESH Fusenhoff MEAN!? I mean, is it some kind of slug attached to an outlet? Is it an electrically charged horse's foot? WHY ARE YOU CALLED SUCH AN ILLOGICAL NAME! I MUST KNOW! JUST TELL ME YOU PRICK! YOU WANT IN MY HEAD! YOU'RE THERE! YOU'RE IN THERE! Rattling around like Lewis Black's Horse, ready to cause my skull to just spontaneously combust, hoofin' from one side of my brain to the other. It's just... lacks all logic! And for someone who usually likes to trample logic with a steamroller and to be COMPLETELY in the dark as to why you choose your name, what sort of personal insanity it represents... well... I must commend you.

I would give you a standing ovation but doing that in a coffee shop is like doing the wave at an elementary school's choir concert.

So, Fusenhoff, I hope to hear from you. I'm really just... confused. Maybe you can answer some of my questions.

(Tony Davis walks by quickly, not giving Flyer a single glance. Flyer starts to run tho catch up to him.)

High Flyer: Dude.

Tony Davis: She was a he.

(And with that, Flyer was left in Davis' vanquishing dust. He immediately turns to the camera and begins to laugh hysterically at his best friend's blunder.)

High Flyer: That's what you get... tryin' cheat on my sister!

(Flyer shouts, exiting the cafe. FADE OUT.)

 

[Fusenshoff]

Fade in to Fusenshoff sitting on the steps of Missouri State’s administration building on a cloudy day. The setting is eerily reminiscent of Fusenshoff’s last TiT promotional segment, considering he’s in the exact same place, with a bagged fifth of Jack, sipping away with his peripheral vision scanning his surroundings for campus police.

Fusenshoff: “I’ll admit freely that I’m a superstitious guy. I figure this worked last time against Mateo, and I’m all about visualization. You know, premeditation- seeing the battle before it happens, and preparing accordingly.

“It all started after I read ‘Visions of Excellence: The Art of Achieving’ by Mark Tewksbury when I was nine. He won gold in Barcelona, 1992 and his book came out a year later. He came out five years later.

“Regardless of his orientation, the book was one of those revelatory inspirations for me. I learned the importance of discipline and preparation. I had no idea the impact it would have on my professional wrestling career.

“So popping a squat on these steps is another stride toward the six wins necessary in this tourney. Call it superstition, visualization, preparation or even stultification. I have four of the greatest things God derived in abundance all around me:

“Fresh air in my lungs; the sun on my face; booze on my lips, and scantily clad coeds captivating my corneas.

“One might argue: that doesn’t sound like premeditation to me. You prepare for matches by ogling promiscuous, insecure and vulnerable sorostitutes? Well, this is the preliminary stages. Part of carousal includes hazy, barely conscious moments that reemerge in your subconscious on game day, when the actual preparation takes place.

“Plus, it’s a hell of a lot of fun.

“High Flyer, I’m sure that, like your friend Davis, you’re much more sleaker than me. I’m sure you’re the much most morest sleakiest sleakster in this competition. Still, I can forgive blatant redundancy as long as you’re willing to leave everything you have in the ring they build in the Hammons Sports Center. I get the impression you’ll be ready when the time comes. That’s all that concerns me.

“You play the utter foolishness for the sake of entertainment card. It works for a lot of guys. Those guys are creative and witty, but you missed the boat on both. My name is the butt of a lot of gut busters, but you just made an ass of yourself. Night Rider and Baywatch are common fodder for ridicule, yet you left nothing imaginative to salivate my interest in a rebuttal. If you’re so interested in the origin, do some damn homework. Hell, tapes from TEAM TiT ’07 would’ve sufficed. Pick apart the archives to quench your curiosity. I’m not going to make it easy on you.

“And what’s with the acid induced references? A promo by a wrestler on acid would have a man staring at a camera while his cigarette wilts away and he doesn’t even take a puff. People on acid can’t function, let alone include bus boy’s with Down’s Syndrome that say ‘You are crapes sir’.

“Crêpes… Flyer… Crêpes.

“Unless it was your intention to have your serf bring you actual crapes in a gold box. That totally makes sense. I always like to doggy bag my armbands after a nice meal. Maybe you’re mourning the loss of your ability to formulate any statement that makes the general public say… OH NO HE DIIIDN’T! The word lackluster comes screaming from my cerebrum.

“Then again you’re more confused than Paris Hilton at a key party, so I’m not exactly shocked. At least you have the upper hand on her. You’re imitating Shakespeare, spouting ‘What’s in a name?’ while she’s thinking to herself ‘You mean, I don’t get to f*ck everybody?’. I guess things could be worse.

“You have your wrestling acumen to fall back on, after all. Remember what you tattooed on your ass. You’re the most highest flyer of allest. You can do this. Just buck up, remember it’s what you do between those four turnbuckles that counts. You can count on me to deplete every drop of sweat before this thing’s over. If you saunter up those steel steps with the same mindset, then this tussle will be worth every penny. We’ll see who really has what it takes to reach the Sweet Sixteen.

“May the more better man win.”

Fade out as Fusenshoff washes away his sarcasm-laden banter with a single swig for blackjack.

 

[Ford]

(The early morning sun radiates down on the busy populace streets. A large courthouse looms in the distance, as TiT participant High Flyer slow makes his way up the innumerous number of steps available to said court house.

Entering through the glass double doors, Flyer goes through security, tossing things from his pockets into the blue trays and making some small chat with the security guards. Security confirms that High Flyer does not have a bomb or a gun of any kind, and so, Flyer continues on his way, climbing into an elevator that has overachieved it's weight capacity.

Sixth floor, Flyer exits and saunters down the hallway to the local receptionist. He mimes ringing a bell for service, since there is no bell.)

High Flyer: Ring!

(A secretary, Laura, in her early twenties, turns and smiles.)

Laura: What can I do for you today sir?

High Flyer: Uh, yeah, you can really help me out here. Listen... I want to know what a fusenhoff is.

Laura: Excuse me?

High Flyer: Yeah, listen, I've been trying to figure out what the word fusenhoff stands for. You know how baby's names stand for something? Like, how the name Patrick comes from the derivative of the word Patriarch, meant for a noble man. You've read those books, haven't you?

Laura: And you want to know what...

High Flyer: Fusenhoff

Laura: Right... Fusenhoff... means.(she stares) Well, I'm sorry sir, but we're not the dictionary department.

High Flyer: You guys have a dictionary department?

Laura: Uh... no.

High Flyer: Oh. Man, this is going to bug the crap out of me. I even called NPR and asked them to put it on their Vocab show, but NOTHING! I drove here EARLY just to ask YOU that very important question.

Laura: I'm sorry! What am I supposed to do? Go out and buy a baby name book and look through the p's?

High Flyer: F's, but no, that won't do any good. I already bought eight baby name books, more than when I had my own baby, I swear. It's freaking redonkilous. I'm just done with it. I am. I can't figure it out. He's just made out of gibberish! I swear!

(Laura continues to stare at Flyer, as a long awkward pause begins to develop. Flyer and Laura exchange flirtive glances, and then Flyer turns heel and begins to walk out of the courthouse.

While waiting for the elevator, Flyer leans back and talks to our cameraman, who's using a pinhole plastic camera in the lapel of his jacket.)

High Flyer: I can't believe you got a camera in here. Now that's talent.

(The cameraman shakes his jacket to make the camera nod. The elevator doors open, and Flyer and the cameraman start to head down, alone in said elevator.)

High Flyer: So I'm done trying to chase down what the name Fusenhoff actually means. I mean, I even got desperate enough to watch your old tapes there Fusey, and I've got to say... I still have no idea what your name means. I mean, I know what YOU mean, I know who YOU are, but why are you Fusenhoff. Why did your parents decide to you name you that instead of Edgar? Edgar's much easier of a name to understand than Fusenhoff. I bet all through elementary school, kids cracked up at the mere mention of your name.

(Flyer scoffs)

High Flyer: And I wasn't on acid. I was on acid four days BEFORE I shot that promo. You know, I was doin' the ol' prep work. Watch a few of your matches, catch your promos, take some acid, y'know? (Flyer Shrugs) I didn't even take any acid. It was a complete an utter fabrication. Much like your moniker. If you won't tell me what it means, can you at least tell me how you came up with it? Was it some sort of heroin induced gibberish you thought sounded cool? Cause I will admit it sounds cool.

(The elevator doors open on the ground floor. Flyer steps calmly out of the elevator, and then smiles back to the cameraman.)

High Flyer: I think we're done here?

(The cameraman must have shook his head no, as the camera sways left to right.)

High Flyer: Well, if we're not done... SECURITY! THIS MAN HAS A CAMERA! SWARM! SWARM!

(Immediately, security officers enter and tackle our TEAM cameaman, as Flyer slowly and quietly makes his getaway.)

 

[Fusenshoff]

Fade in to Fusenshoff at a bar in Minneapolis. Fusenshoff has a line of empty shot glasses and bottles of Labatt’s Blue in his wake. He’s watching the Penguins/Senators game intently as Pittsburgh is up 2-0. At intermission Fusenshoff turns his gaze to the camera.

Fusenshoff: “FusenSHOFF… dipsh*t… Fusenshoff…

“My GOD, I’ve never seen anything like this before. You spend two separate promo periods boringly obsessing over the origin of my name. You can’t even say it, let alone do enough research to learn it’s my last name. Distracted much High Flyer? I’ll just bring a shiny object to the ring with me and I might get the pinfall in record time.

“I’ll briefly indulge you before moving on to more pressing matters. First name is James, nice to meet you. Last name, like many Canadian immigrants, doesn’t mean sh*t and was probably changed straight off the boat. If you’d perused TEAM’s video archive to my last match in this tourney last year it would’ve been obvious. Then again your attention span is so short its knee-high to Gary Coleman, and there’s a lot of material from that particular encounter.

“Anyway, that’s enough stupidity for one promotional segment. My goal isn’t to bore my fans to tears as they scream ‘YOU’RE A F’N MORON!’ at the screen (familiar?).

“Some guys just aren’t cut out for this whole TEAM thing. They need a storyline to make their character and sense of humor relevant. I’m not one to label, so I’ll refrain from adding you to the top of this very prestigious list. All I’ll say is… if the shoe fits…

“Despite your utter lack of motive to make any argument; anything that may aide in your hopes to advance in this tournament… I’m optimistic. You’re a high flying athlete with nine years of experience over me in this sport. Since you’ve researched my background soooo ardently, I’m sure you know that I want one thing from my opponents… a challenge. You’re a wily veteran with a wrestling style very complimentary in its contrast to my power approach. There is still hope.

“Bring that High Flyer to the ring when we meet on campus. Bring the aggressive, snide High Flyer I saw against Doofus Ryan last round. Not the guy from this week running around with less direction than Mr. Magoo.

“The beauty of this competition is the fact that sixty-four guys from all around the wrestling world meet and compete to be the one guy who leaves with a win. I was blessed with competing against exceptional competition last year. I met James Irish at the top of his game, A1E World Champion at the time. Ravager, also a World Champion when we met. Dan Ryan, my only singles loss to date and the toughest competitor I’ve ever faced.

“This year, Mateo didn’t show up in promo week and barely put up a fight when we went toe-to-toe. I was gravely disappointed. While I’ve made it clear I haven’t been impressed with your showing Flyer, all that matters is our battle between the ropes. I BEG you- give me everything you have in our match. Stay focused; never give up. I’m itching like a crack-head trapped in a monastery for an epic fight.”

Fade out as Fusenshoff leaves it at that. No closing witticism. He turns his attention back to the Sens game with a concerned look on his brow.

 

[Ford]

OOC: Fun little short ditty.

(FADE IN: A large TEAM banner waves in the distance.

High Flyer stands cross armed, head held high.)

High Flyer: Hey! I know there's an s! I play the boob to throw you COMPLETELY off your game!

(Flyer looks from side to side quickly.)

High Flyer: Oh God. I hope he doesn't see this. It'd ruin everything! CANCEL! CANCEL!

(Fade out.)