The Once and Future Legacy

[Ryan Ruckus]

>

“If you’re not having fun, you’re doing it wrong…”





STUDIO CITY, CALIFORNIA – NOW.

“So that’s it? Have fun? THAT is your advice for the folks at home with future aspirations toward a career in professional wrestling?

MICK MCELROY twitches his cartoon villain mustache, as we join the Wrestling That Doesn’t Suck Balls interview, already in progress. Seated next to Mick, one-fourth of the APW Overdrive Championship contenders, RYAN RUCKUS, is dressed to the nines. Black Chuck Taylor All-Stars, pin-striped black slacks with matching sports coat, and a collarless charcoal DKNY dress shirt. His hands are adorned with his SCW Man of the Year and Grandslam Champion rings; and as always, he sports his custom two-tone shades above his ever-present smirk.

RUCKUS: Absolutely, that’s my advice, Mick. …I mean, don’t get me wrong; there is a truly Akashic number of things to consider before beginning a career in this business. But at the end of the day, the only thing you really need to ask yourself in that locker room mirror is: Am I satisfied?

Ruckus reaches into the breast pocket of his blazer and retrieves a cigarette.

MICK: You can’t smoke in here.

RUCKUS: Relax, it’s electronic. --exhaling a plume of white smoke into McElroy’s face-- See? Water vapor. …Where was I? …Oh right, satisfaction. There are just SO many things that are out of your control in this business. Train all you want, tan all you want, download merchandise marketing practices straight into your brain… it doesn’t matter. Master your mic skills, find an unstoppable finisher, cheat like hell or maintain your integrity… it doesn’t matter. …Not REALLY. At the end of the day, no matter what you do or how hard you try, there will always be variables beyond your control. So you’d better be enjoying yourself in the moment, because you never know where you’ll be from one minute to the next.…

. . .

HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA – FIVE MONTHS AGO

Most non-locals have this idea of Southern California, where the weather’s always bright, clear and warm. But what they neglect to consider is that Hollywood --despite its glitz, glamour and hype-- is in the middle of the friggin' desert. So while it’s 80 degrees F on a good day, it’s 45 degrees F on a bad night. And when the Santa Ana winds are blowing, it can be downright bone-chilling.

Which is why the subject of our viewing --a 6-foot-tall, shabbily-dressed homeless man-- is clutching his tattered wool coat to his frame, as he shambles, bald-headed, toward a trashcan just outside a Barnes and Noble.

Rifling through the paper trash in search of anything edible, the disheveled tramp --who you may know better than you think-- accidentally comes across the latest monthly issue of Pro Wrestling Illustrated. And for a moment, the pangs of his long-lasting hunger abate, as his eyes scan the cover story.

The Rise and Fall of a One Man Hall of Fame

-Printed boldly on the left side of the high-gloss stock, rubbing elbows with an in-ring action photo of the man the wrestling world used to know as Ryan Ruckus.

STREET BUM: Ruck me…

He glances toward the sky with a shrug, as if questioning whichever powers may be. Is this pure coincidence? An ironic turn of happenstance which only bears some meaning if I over think it? Or is it supposed to be a sign? Some cryptic message from the aether, like a found-art call to action from above?

Or below...

Shaking his head, the street bum takes the magazine and shuffles toward a wall across the street. Sliding down the weathered bricks, he scoops a half-smoked cigarette from off the cluttered ground him, lights the mangy thing with the last match from his pocket, and opens the sports magazine to the page marked on the cover.

. . .

THE RUCK STOPS HERE
The Rise and Fall of a One Man Hall of Fame
-by Skip Tripper

The professional wrestling world has lost one of its greats this month. And whether it’s due to an untimely death --as some speculate-- or simply due to a complete disappearance, the fact remains that a Ryan Ruckus sized void will be left on the scene for years to come. And I don’t say that as an R2 mark (though I am an R2 mark), I say that because there may not be another wrestler of Ryan’s generation who so wholly embodies everything this business is meant to be.[/font][/size]

Ryan Ruckus was born and raised in a small Midwestern town, in the early days of Ronald Regan’s big budget America. Spielberg was making movies, Nintendo was making video games, and cable television was beginning its ascent toward the powerhouse it is today. The world was changing in major ways, and every bit of it helped color The Real Thing’s early years. In fact, an entire separate article could be written about how one of wrestling’s most-successful media crossover stars was born in exactly the same era as the sport’s evolution from high school gymnasiums and Bingo halls, to national arenas and Pay Per View Supershows. But though Ruckus was an early fan of sports entertainment, he didn’t develop what would become his lifelong passion for it, until almost twenty years later.

It was September, 1997, barely a week after Ryan’s 18th birthday, when he attended a MEWA Wrestling show, hosted by the local promoter and father of Ryan’s close friend, Doug E. Fresh. Ruck was just a month away from a four-year trip to Ohio State University on a dual scholarship in film and creative writing. But when one of the local wrestlers showed up 'in no condition to perform,’ Ryan --who had been an all-state athlete in high school-- did Doug a favor and filled in for the opening match. A match which, surprisingly, he would win, nailing an unheard of Shooting Star Press leg drop from the top rope for the pin. When asked about the move backstage, Ruckus was rumored to say, “I was on the diving team for three straight years. What’s the big deal?” No one realized then that the ‘big deal’ in question was the beginning of one of the most prestigious professional wrestling careers of all time.

Despite Ryan’s success on the card that night, the show would prove to be MEWA’s last. One month later, the federation was bought out and assimilated by the rocket-rising national promotion, New Empire Wrestling. Fronted by tempestuous upstart mogul, Cameron Blake, N.E.W. was on an unapologetic trip to the top of the wrestling world, and Doug’s family fed was just a casualty of war. But a surprise would come in the 11th hour, as Blake offered both Doug and Ryan a spot on his roster, pitching them on the idea of forming a tag team. So, Ryan declined his scholarships to attend Ohio State, said goodbye to his childhood home, and jumped aboard the New Empire train. Next stop, Something Wicked.

But they did not immediately become the world class tandem you’ll read of in the history books. In fact, the duo’s first run as a tag team was relatively short, due mainly to Ryan’s push toward the federation’s intercontinental title. A title he would win in his second contention, during a match which would cement him as a fan favorite for the new generation. Unfortunately for R2, his victory would carry with it, ultimate betrayal. His post-match music would barely begin, before he was blindsided and knocked cold by a Grading Curve from his former tag team partner. And thus began the battle which would twice win professional wrestling feud of the year. The battle which legitimized both young stars as guaranteed future Hall of Famers. But once again, Ryan’s success would contrast his federation’s inner turmoil. And just half a year later, New Empire Wrestling filed for bankruptcy.

Surprisingly, the unintended hiatus from wrestling would work in Ruckus’ favor. His image equity was skyrocketing, and it wasn’t long before the other forms of media came to call. Within one year’s time, Ryan penned a memoirography entitled “Face-Pop Culture,” wrote and directed the limited release feature film, “Deprivation,” and opened a chain of Hard Ruck Café night-life lounges. Business was booming for the One Man Hall of Fame, and the entertainment world was starting to realize they had more than just a wrestler on their hands. They were watching the evolution of a full-blown crossover star, and no one was more enthralled than up-and-coming it-list actress, Foxy Fox. She and Ruckus met on the set of Deprivation, and after a few months of courting, the two would wed in Las Vegas and purchase a home in the Hollywood Hills. All in all, life for the couple was perfect; but Ryan was starting to hear the call of competition once again.[/font]

As luck would have it, Ryan’s old boss, Cameron Blake, was feeling a similar call. Using the experience he gained his first time out, Blake partnered with financial backers and founded Elite World Wrestling. Not surprisingly, he signed Doug and Ruckus as his first official roster members. And if Ryan’s first run towards the top of the business was impressive, this run would become otherworldly. In just his first year back, R2 captured the Television title, the newly-formed United title, and his first-ever Global heavyweight championship. But perhaps most importantly, this era marked the rebirth of the new and improved Something Wicked. No longer just a tag team, with the addition of Extream and Rick Gardner, SW became the force that would carry Elite World Wrestling to the top of the television ratings for the better part of two years. Business was booming. So obviously, it was only a matter of time before the bottom dropped out.

See, the unrivaled success of E.W.W. was quickly invading Cameron Blake’s brain. And evidence of that quickly became noticeable backstage. The CEO would rant and rave, intentionally pick fights with other federations, treat his roster members like universally-replaceable place holders, change cards right up to, and sometimes during, booked matches, and announcing to everyone who would listen that it was him and him alone that made Elite World Wrestling great. Needless to say, locker room morale was at an all-time low, and Ruckus, as an ambassador of the boys in the back, went to Blake and tried to talk reason. For his trouble, he was immediately depushed, bumped down to the bottom of the card, and jobbed out, week after week, to a horde of incoming Cameron Blake lackeys. Until finally, the roster had enough and threatened to mutiny. So Blake, the coward he turned out to be, tucked tail and ran, leaving the company in the control of Extream, who had recently defected from Something Wicked. But Ryan knew it would just be more of the same under Extream, and positioned himself via the board of directors, into a match with the acting GM. Winner would get control of E.W.W. The match would be Weapon of Choice rules, and Ryan’s weapon was the E.W.W. roster, and with their help, he defeated Extream, and took control, erasing the negative aura Elite World Wrestling had achieved, by re-branding the federation Sin City Wrestling and moving the operation to Las Vegas, Nevada, where it would become a two-time Hall of Fame-honored fed. Not to bad for a small town fanboy from Ohio.[/font]

As it turned out, however, Ryan had severely underestimated the headaches of steering the SCW ship. Business decisions and shareholder meetings were not spot-fest matches and in-ring promos. And when the upstart Cooluminati faction invaded from R.A.G.E., the ensuing hostile takeover pushed Ruckus to the brink of his mental capacity. Something had to give, and rather than see his new fed fail, Ryan took a self-imposed sabbatical and left the running of things to his long term friend, Doug. Which, for Ryan, turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because at roughly the same time, Hollywood came calling again. So he drove out to Los Angeles, scooped up his movie star wife, and headed to Italy, to begin production on Irish Rose, the film that would eventually earn him a best director nod at the Italian film festival. It was a one-year ride of press junkets and T.V. spots, but as it started winding down, The Real Thing found himself again missing the thrill of the wrestling crowd.[/font]

But Ryan knew he couldn’t just walk through the backstage doors and take his spot back. The power dynamic at Sin City Wrestling had shifted dramatically. Doug, drunk with power and under the advisement of the Cooluminati had started to become Cameron Blake 2.0, and Ruckus would need help to even get an honest shake upon return. Enter Ornery Hillman, evil-genius carnival barker/promoter, he was taking the entertainment world by storm, amazing a stable he was calling the One Ring Circus, and signing stars to previously unheard contracts. But if R2 wanted Hillman’s assistance in reclaiming his place as the Patron Saint of Sin, he’d have to sign a contract offering Hillman creative control of his sports entertainment career. Which is exactly what Ruckus did, before quickly realizing his partnership with the One Ring Circus was a double-edged sword. Sure, it lead to R2’s most impressive run with the company, capturing every title available to the roster, en route to his second Global Title reign and simultaneously winning the vote for Match of the Year, Feud of the Year, and Man of the Year, in addition to placing second at APW’s Survive and Conquer and winning the third annual Efed Knights tournament. But Ryan’s allegiance with Hillman would also lead to the slow and steady disintegration of both his professional wrestling career and his personal life.[/font]

Without Ryan’s knowledge, Hillman signed him to a contract with the red-hot regional fed, Siberian Wrestling. A show which broadcast and bunked their roster members in an old, abandoned prison, in the bleakest place on Earth. And the nest thing the Real Thing knew, he went from living in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills to spending six months in the 10x15 confines of cell 22. Which, in and of itself, may not have been so bad. Ruckus did achieve an impressive level of success in Siberian. But elsewhere, while Ryan was away, Ornery Hillman was plotting. He arranged to put Foxy Fox in a 3 month coma, in order to receive Ryan’s power of attorney, and set about re-branding everything Ruckus had ever owned, developed, or done, under Hillman’s own O.R.C. label. No more merchandise, no more film royalties, no more Hard Ruck Cafes. And following Foxy’s awakening and consistent separation from the husband she held responsible for things turning so terrible, no more marriage either. Never before had a riches to rags story played out in such a short span. By the time Ruckus finished the third match of his dual-residency at T.F.W.F., he was a hated, broken, poor, and powerless shell of his previous self. As far as anyone in the media or the audience was concerned, the legacy of Ryan Ruckus was finished. And that was the last he was heard of.[/font]

So, where is Ryan Ruckus now? Your guess is as good as mine. Some believe he retired to some unknown island in the Pacific. Others believe he died and is somewhere in Hell playing poker with the Devil. I believe where he has gone isn’t nearly as important as whether or not he’ll return some day. Maybe it’s because I am a fan, but I don’t think The Real Thing has even scratched the surface of the things he could achieve in this business. And the way the business is going these days, we could certainly use his performance and presence. The world needs something real, Ruck. It needs a One Man Hall of Fame. So if you’re out there and reading this, there’s a light on in the window, and we’re shining it for you.

Here's hoping you find it.

-Skip Tripper
Nov. 2011

[/font]

. . .

The Street Bum lets the magazine slump between his knees and eases his head back, to rest on the tan bricks behind him. Were he not so dehydrated, it’s safe to think he may start crying. And upon that realization, he growls a phlegmy growl and chucks the magazine across the sky-

-Right into the head of a PASSING WOMAN.

Woman: Ow. Fucker!

The bum doesn’t respond, just gives her the finger and buries his head in his knees. And the camera tracks along the sidewalk, to where the magazine now lays, rippling in the Santa Ana winds and displaying the full-page ad across its back cover.

* * * * * * * * *
Coming Soon

APW presents
Survive & Conquer 2010

Think you’ve got what it takes to endure three stages of hellacious competition?

Think you can outlast the best of the APW and dozens of inter-fed free agents?

Think you can claim the $500,000 Grand Prize as your own?

Well, stop thinking, and start proving it, son.

Registration is filling quickly. Contact APW officials before you miss out.

Many men live…
Few
Survive and Conquer.

[/i]

* * * * * * * * *[/center]
-And a final zoom on the Pay Per View logo, FADES us back TO:

. . .

STUDIO CITY, CALIFORNIA – NOW.

“And that is the same Survive and Conquer you returned from retirement to win, am I right?”

Mick McElroy and Ryan Ruckus continue their interview on the set of Wrestling That Doesn’t Suck Balls. The backdrop behind Mick’s desk now bears the same PPV graphic as the back cover of that PWI magazine.

RUCKUS: That’s right, Mick. I came back and bested 40 other competitors that evening, including the APW Heavyweight champion, Sally Talfourd and her number one contender, Level One; the APW Overdrive champion, Biggs and co-number one contender to his title, Terry Marvin; and both former champions and current contenders to the APW Tag Team titles, CJ Gates and Blade. …It was a good night.

MICK: And would you say that magazine article was the catalyst for your comeback?

Ruckus leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other, thinking.

RUCKUS: Yeah, I guess so. In a way. At the time, it was just as much inspired by that nerdy fanboy, Mark Smart, and his promise of Ruckstar energy drinks. I swear, I’m like the Trix rabbit for that shit. But deep down in my heart, I knew that I wanted to return. That I wanted the feeling of redemption… or revenge, I guess, depending on how you look at it. …And also, I’d being lying if I said 500 grand wasn’t remarkable incentive. Hell, I was dumpster diving at the time. I’d have probably done for a 10 spot.

The studio audience laughs as Ruckus shoots them a smirk and a wink. Mick McElroy leans forward.

MICK: That reminds me, we’ve been dying to know, since the last time you were here, what did you end up spending that money on?

Ruckus sips from the mug on the table in front of him then sets the cup back down.

RUCKUS: Yeah, I had a hard time with that, myself. There was the Half-Million Dollar Man thing, and Dr. Bunko thing, and the ex-wife thing. Then Level One stole the money and made Johnny Chase write me a check to replace it. But that check bounced, so I had to legal involved. Truth be told, it was all more trouble than it was worth. All I really wanted was to get back everything that was taken from me. Well, mostly everything… Foxy can rot on her boyfriend’s minimum-wage love stick for all I care… but everything ELSE. …So in the end, I spent the cash on the only thing that really matters. The Once and Future Legacy of me. Ryan Ruckus.

Mick arches an eyebrow.

MICK: Okay, that sounds nice and catchy, but I'm not sure I know what it means.

Ruckus chuckles.

RUCKUS: Well then, allow me to elucidate...

. . .

OFFICE OF NICK MIGNON – BURBANK, CALIFORNIA – ONE WEEK AGO

“So, I have good news-“

“Yeah yeah, and bad news, right? It’s not my first time.”

Ruckus sits in a black leather chair, puffing his electronic cigarette, and staring at the man behind the desk, across from him. There, NICK MIGNON, law advisor to the stars, sits comfortably in his chair. Everything about him says he’s more relaxed than he’s been in forever.

NICK: Actually, I was going to say I have good news and better news.

RUCKUS: That makes me worry that the world’s about to end…

Ruckus blows a plume of white mist into the air, seeming uncertain. But Nick holds up a hand.

NICK: Just hear me out. You know how Level One stole your Survive and Conquer money and dropped it onto the crowd at Overdrive?

Ruckus scoffs.

RUCKUS: You try losing half a million dollars. See if you remember.

NICK: But wait, you haven’t heard the good part. The moment that money entered the hands of the fans, and Johnny Chase cut you a replacement check, you ex-wife’s injunction against spending it was rendered null and void. So, if she wants to get at that money now, she’s going to have to file a new one.

Behind his two-tone shades, Ryan’s eyes light up.

RUCKUS: So you mean-?

NICK: -That as long as you spend the cash before you’re officially served again, Ms. Foxy Fox won’t see a penny of it.

A short moment passes, as Ruckus processes the info, and then-

RUCKUS: Woohoo!

-And he jumps from his seat right onto Nick’s desk and dances what could only be called a giddy jig.

RUCKUS: (singing) Ding dong, the bitch just lost. Which old bitch? That ex-wife witch. Ding dong that stupid whore just lost! (beat) Man, I just wish she could be here to see my celebration.

Nick smiles.

NICK: That’s the better news.

-And leaning forward, he pushes the intercom button on his desk, to address his secretary.

NICK: You can send them in now.

On top of the desk, Ruckus looks confused, yet slightly elated. He couldn’t possibly be so lucky, could he? Then the door opens, and his ex-wife, FOXY FOX, walks in, accompanied by her man candy, JOHNNY SOMEBODY. The moment Foxy sees Ruckus, her face becomes one giant scowl.

FOXY: The hell is this about, Nick?

But before Nick can answer, Ruckus starts singing and dancing again.

RUCKUS: (singing) I saw you goin’ downtown on my protégé… so Ruck you-oo-oo. But now I got a new check, and you won’t get paid, with a Ruck you and a Ruck him too. …Yeah ya tried to screw me, you stupid floozy… Ha! Well ain’t that some shit-

NICK: Ain’t that some shit!

RUCKUS: And though you’re still my ex-wife, you’re done ruining my life, with a… RUCK YOU-OO-OO!

At first, it didn’t seem possible, but as Ruckus dances on the desk, turning to wiggle his ass just inches from Foxy’s face, the scowl she was originally wearing grows even larger.

FOXY: Johnny! Do something!! Are you going to let him treat me like this?!

-But Johnny Somebody looks dumbfounded. Maybe because he has the I.Q. of a week-old possum turd. So Ruckus stops his song and dance, and drops into a seated position on Nick’s desk.

RUCKUS: Hey Johnny, you still working that part time job at Burger King.

JOHNNY: Psh, it’s Pinkberry, thank you very much!

RUCKUS: Who cares. I’ll give you ten thousand dollars right now, to sign a legal document saying you’ll never date Foxy again.

Johnny’s eyes go wide, as Foxy’s glare seems to say to him, ‘you’d better not even consider this.’

JOHNNY: Really?! Ten thousand?!

RUCKUS: Ruck to the yes.

Johnny looks at Ruckus. …Looks at Foxy. …Looks at Ruckus. …Looks at Foxy.

JOHNNY: Where do I sign?

And Foxy’s jaw drops as Nick comes around the side of the desk, to hand Johnny a contract and a pen.

FOXY: Johnathon Nathaniel Somebody, you had BETTER put that pen down RIGHT NOW!

RUCKUS: Johnny, I’ll give you another 3 grand to say, ‘Shut up, whore.’

JOHNNY: Shut up, whore.

Foxy gasps.

FOXY: Well, I never…

RUCKUS: If that was true, we wouldn’t be in this situation.

And as Johnny puts ink to the dotted line, our confident, clever, and mature protagonist sticks his tongue out at his ex-wife.

RUCKUS: That will be all.

Ever seen the Exorcist? You know that part where Linda Blair’s head spins all the way around? Well, just imagine that.

FOXY: Youarrogant,egotisticalsonofabitch! DoyoureallythinkI’mgoing toletyougetawaywiththis?! Ideservewhat’smineand,byGod,I’mgoingtogetit. Idon’tcareifIhaveto-

Nick hits the intercom again.

NICK: Security!

FOXY: -myself!Youmessedwiththewrongbitch,youbastards,andmarkmywordsyouwillruethedaythatyoutriedtoscrewFoxyF-

Suddenly, she is cut off, mid-rant, by a burly security guard, who enters the office and scoops Foxy up around the waist, to drag her from the room. And by that time, her tirade has de-evolved to naught but a banshee-like scream.

FOXY: Aaaaaaaiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee!!!

And then, SLAM, the door is closed, and she is gone. Leaving Johnny Somebody standing there, blinking.

RUCKUS: Don't let us keep you, Johnny.

JOHNNY: What about my money?

Ruckus hops off Nick’s desk and reclaims his previous seat, already bored with the conversation.

RUCKUS: I’ll send you a check.

JOHNNY: Oh. Okay. Um, also, I’m really sorry things went down the way they did. I was just trying-

RUCKUS: Okay. Ruck off now. Buh-bye.

And just like that, Johnny leaves Nick’s office too. Directly followed by Ruckus lacing his fingers behind his head and leaning back in his chair, as if he’s the proudest mother-rucker on the planet.

NICK: So, what now?

Ruckus smirks.

RUCKUS: Nick, my friend, the revenge has just begun…

-And we slowly start to DISSOLVE TO:

. . .

THE SMART RESIDENCE - MODESTO, CALIFORNIA – 5 DAYS AGO.

Professional wrestling fanboy and former acting manager for Ryan Ruckus, MARK SMART, slides his key into the front door of his mom’s suburban home. Crossing past the foyer and through the modest kitchen, he turns left and opens the door that leads to his basement lair and descend the stairs to the headquarters of his internet blog site, Smart Mark Central.

MARK: Alright gang, Rasslemania is just around the corner, and if we’re going to hatch a plan to screw Ruckus, we need to- Oh, crap…

“Hiya, shit-stain.”

Seated Indian style in the middle of the basement table is none other than our hero, Ryan Ruckus. He sends a smirk Mark’s way, as the nerdy little bastard glances around the room to see the weight of the situation. Against the far wall sit three chairs with three people tied to them. The first two, we know as Mark’s employees, KAY FABIAN and RP FREELY. The third, is Mark’s mom, SUSAN.

Mark: What the hell do you think you’re doing, you bald-headed, two-tone-shade-wearing douche?!

Ruckus clicks his tongue.

RUCKUS: Tsk tsk. Sticks and stones, Mark. Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing? …I’m putting you out of business.

Mark chuckles indignantly.

Mark: Good luck! I have one of the most popular wrestling blogs on the internet.

RUCKUS: Yeah, which is why it’s so strange that you let your URL expire. Guess you were pre-occupied with something else… Either way, you’re looking at the new owner of Smart Mark Central.com.

Boom, the information hits Mark like a brick. But to his credit, he plays it off.

MARK: Whatever, I’ll just start a new one. I’ve already done it once, and I’ve got the best team in the internet wrestling community working for me.

RUCKUS: Not exactly. Kay, RP, what would you say to $50,000 a year to work for ME?

RP: Done.

KAY: Deal.

Ruckus turns to Mark with a grin and a shrug.

MARK: Okay, so what! I don’t need anybody. I’ll hang out in the lair and I’ll run the site myself.

RUCKUS: This lair? Yeah…that’s not going to work.

MARK: And why’s that?

RUCKUS: Cause it’s in the basement of THIS house. And- (checking his watch) –four hours ago, I BOUGHT this house.

Mark’s jaw drops, flabberghasted. He turns to Susan, hoping to hear it’s all a sick lie.

MARK: Mom?

SUSAN: Afraid he’s telling the truth, hon.

RUCKUS: Oh yeah, and I slept with your mom too. She’s kinda hot, for an older broad.

SUSAN: He was very… giving.

And that’s when Mark’s head explodes.

Figuratively.

MARK: You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!!!

-And lowering his nerdy, little head, Mark charges at Ruckus who –quick as shit- hops off the table he was sitting on and meets Mark halfway, leaping as he reaches him, to grab his arm and lock in the RU-BAR.

MARK: Ow ow ow ow!

RUCKUS: The only thing you’re going to be doing, Mark, my little friend, is returning to the obscurity you occupied before you met me, and staying the ruck out of my life, or I swear by every trophy in my trophy case, I will rip your twiggy arm off and mount it on a plaque above your mother’s bed, so that next try I’m putting it to her, there’s a damn good chance it’ll fall off the wall and give her a nice, big donkey punch.

SUSAN: Ooh, what’s a donkey punch?

By now, Mark is yowling.

MARK: Okay, okay. I’m sorry I was meddling in your business. I’ll stop. Just please don’t break my arm, and please stop humping my mom.

Ruckus lets go and lands on his feet, with a pat for Mark’s sore shoulder.

RUCKUS: I can guarantee the first one, buddy. I make no promises on the second. And seeing as how I’m your landlord now, it’ll be $1500 a month if you want to keep living here.

MARK: But… without my blog, there’s no way I’m going to make that kind of money. The best I could hope for is minimum wage at Pinkberry.

Ruckus thinks a minute, then we all-but see the light bulb go off over his head.

RUCKUS: There IS something else you can do for me. You remember that look-a-like you and Foxy hired to try to make me lose my match against Terry Marvin?

MARK: Yeah?

RUCKUS: You don’t happen to have his phone number?…

-And again, we slowly begin to DISSOLVE TO:

. . .

ORNERY HILLMAN’S CONDO – LAS VEGAS, NEVADA – 4 DAYS AGO.

A crooked black top hat is visible, over the back of a red-velvet-upholstered chair. Below the hat, as the camera dollies around, is greasy black hair framing a smug and pasty face, accented by a pencil-think mustache. Below that, a red and black striped shirt, a bearded lady with her head stuck in a sweaty lap, and a pair of brown trousers hanging off a pair of chubby ankles. This is ORNERY HILLMAN, former handler of Ryan Ruckus and mastermind of the One Ring Circus.

Oh, and SALOME, the bearded lady in his lap? She’s doing exactly what you think she’s doing.

HILLMAN: Mmm, that’s it. That’s the good stuff. Come on…

Salome looks up.

SALOME: What’s wrong, Hilly? Your little ringmaster is all loose and rubbery.

HILLMAN: Well don’t stop! Tickle it with your beard or something. Let’s make this happen.

Her head disappears into his lap again, and he leans back with a look that mixes hope and frustration. And that’s when the front door is kicked off of its hinges.

KER-SLAM!

And a bald-headed silhouette stands ominous in the busted frame.

HILLMAN: You!

Shoving Salome from his lap, the portly carnival barker falls over the back of his chair and crab walks across the floor, bumping his cottage cheese ass across the hardwood floor as he makes for the rear exit.

But Ruckus pursues, and Hillman is forced to scramble to his feet and make a run for it. Right into ANOTHER(?) Ryan Ruckus, who’s already waiting for his approach.

HILLMAN: Gah! There’s TWO of you!

RUCKUS: You’d be surprised how far a couple hundred Gs will go at a black market cloning lab.

He shoots a wink at DOPPLERUCKUS, who nods in response, unbeknownst to Hillman, who ping pongs his attention between the two of them.

HILLMAN: Heh heh. Look…

-But that’s where he’s cut off, as DoppleRuckus is on him, While the real Ruckus grabs a hold of Salome.

RUCKUS: Alright, here’s how it’s going to be. I’m leaving here with one of three things. Either all the rights to all of the intellectual properties you stole from me-

HILLMAN: Go suck yourself.

DoppleRucker knocks Hillman down and stands over him, pulling a thick red rubber band from his pocket.

RUCKUS: If I can’t get that, I’ll have my clone here take your balls.

Hillman shrieks.

HILLMAN: Now wait just a goddamn minute. Let’s talk about this.

Ruckus pulls some scissors from his own pocket and grabs a nice big handful of Salome’s beard.

RUCKUS: If I can’t get those, I’m taking the beard. Those are your options, they are non-negotiable, and you’ve got five seconds to decide, or I’ll take all three. (beat) 5… 4…

HILLMAN: Hold on a second-

RUCKUS: 3… 2…

HILLMAN: You can’t just barge in here and-

Ruckus lifts the scissors to Salome’s chin and ever-so-slightly starts to cut.

HILLMAN: Okay! Okay! Jesus Christ!!! You can have your stupid merchandise and licensing rights, okay? Just put the scissors down.

Ruckus does. Then smirks.

RUCKUS: Good choice.

Then crossing, Ruckus bends and rests the edge of the scissors right where Salome’s head was moments ago.

RUCKUS: And Hillman, just so we’re clear, if I catch slinking around trying to enact some sort of slow-roasting revenge, the deal is off. …Which means… SNIP!

HILLMAN: Gah! …Fine. Just go! Get out of here.

A condescending smile from Ruckus-

RUCKUS: Pleasure doing business with you.

Then he stands, pockets the scissors and heads out the back door, followed by DoppleRucker. As soon as they’re outside and out of ear shot, Ruckus turns to his ‘clone.’

RUCKUS: Good work in there.

DOPPLERUCKER: Thanks.

RUCKUS: (grabbing the scissors again) But if I ever catch you impersonating me again –I don’t care if it’s for two seconds in the bathroom mirror- I’ll give you the same deal I just gave Hillman. Understood?

DOPPLERUCKER: Absolutely, Mr. Ruckus.

RUCKUS: Good. Now get rucked. I’m done with you.

Ruckus turns and walks away, looking every bit as confident as ever. DoppleRucker can only watch him go.

DOPPLERUCKER: Man, that dude is money…

And the camera zooms to close up on his jealous blue eyes as he watches Ruck leave, and FADES the scene back TO:

. . .

STUDIO CITY, CALIFORNIA – NOW.

Mick and Ruckus continue their interview.

MICK: So… wow! You just sewed up all the loose ends of the past year of your life in one week’s time?

RUCKUS: Pretty much, yeah.

MICK: That seems kind of-

RUCKUS: -Convenient?

They both turn and look at the camera before continuing.

RUCKUS: You have a legitimate point.

MICK: But where did the rest of the money go? The clone thing was a ruse. And houses in Modesto don’t cost THAT much. Don’t you have to spend it all if you don’t want Foxy to take it?

Ruckus sips his drink.

RUCKUS: I certainly do. So I went down to McDonalds and bought$300,000 double cheeseburgers, cause I heard Sally Talfourd was hungry.

The studio audience laughs.

RUCKUS: I kid. You’ll remember I said I spent the money on my once AND future legacy. Part of the cash went to bringing me back up to zero, and the rest of it went toward taking me from there, to new heights. As I’m sure you know, I’ve co-formed a faction now.

MICK: Yes, the Contourage. With the Real Show, Terry Marvin and A.J. King. Some people are saying you only formed the alliance to grease the wheels of your Overdrive title win.

RUCKUS: The people who say that are idiots. The truth is, I co-founded the Contourage cause I met a group of like-minded individuals, with like-minded goals, and like-minded problems which needed solving. It’s nice sometimes to know there are at least two guys you can trust. Terry, AJ, and I have all being dealing with the same damn shit since we arrived in APW, and I say: props to us for uniting against it.

Mick looks puzzled.

MICK: But what of Biggs’ claim that, at a drop of a dime, the three of you will backstab each other, for a chance at the Overdrive title?

Ruckus laughs.

RUCKUS: Well, I have three things to say about that. One, sometimes folks, especially folks who are scared of some inevitable doom, say things they WISHED were true, to make themselves feel better while waiting for the hammer to fall. Two, while the Overdrive title is a nice prize to be sure, it is not now and will never be the sole means for me or my stablemates to define ourselves. The only person who needs THAT from the strap, is Biggs. Because without it, he’s just a sporadically-cheating, Starwars-loving, aw shucks-y little girl. And three, Biggs has had two personal relationships in recent memory. One was with his tag partner, Chris Cyrus, and one was with Smelly Ellie. Both of whom slept with EACH OTHER, leading Biggs to beat one of them up and marry the other one. And we’ve have all, UNFORTUNATELY, seen how that’s been going, every SINGLE week on the Overdrive pre-show. So maybe Moonboots isn’t the best opinion on human interaction, yeah? Do I think AJ or Terry would drop me and pin me if it meant winning the gold? Hell yes I do, and I’d call them dumb not to. But we’re still a team. And to build that bond, and truly give the Contourage the foundation it needs to become a tent pole in this business, I spent the rest of my S&C money on a little team building…

. . .

THE DESERT BETWEEN CALIFORNIA & VEGAS – 3 DAYS AGO

The mid-day Western sun bears down on the landscape of the Mojave, and there is nothing but sand for as far as the eye can see. Well, sand, and two men who have recently aligned.

AJ: Why the hell does he have us out in the middle of the freaking desert.

AJ KING takes his shirt off and ties it around his head, like a bandana. Beside him, TERRY MARVIN checks his watch.

TMARV: I don’t know, but he better get here soon. This is bullshit.

Suddenly, a dust cloud kicks up on the horizon and the sound of a blaring horn echoes through the air.

AJ & TERRY: What the-?

But before they can finish their question, a huge, custom-painted Charter bus roars to a stop in front of them, its hydraulic breaks decompressing like a muffled canon blast. Then the doors open, and Ryan Ruckus stands there smiling.

RUCKUS: Sup, ruckers?

AJ and Terry just stand there, mouths agape.

TMARV: What the hell-

AJ: -Is that?

Slowly descending the stairs of the beast, Ruckus thrusts his arms out and smiles, as if acting in a car commercial.

RUCKUS: This, gentlemen, is one and a half tons of top-grade aluminum alloy, custom-crafted for minimum wind resistance, multiple climates, and maximum fun!

Pulling a remote control from the pocket of his suit jacket, Ryan points it at the bus and hits a button. Instantly, four panels on the exterior flip around to reveal four of the very best speakers that money can buy. And what song screams out from them, you ask? Why, “Watch Me Shine,” by Fozzy, of course; the official theme song of the Contourage.

And when we say those speakers are loud, what we mean is, somewhere, half a mile a way, a Mojave scorpion starts bleeding from the ears and drops dead.

AJ: (hands over his ears) THAT’S GREAT, RUCK. BUT COULD WE TURN IT DOWN A BIT, BEFORE OUR BRAINS MELT?

RUCKUS: HUH?!

TMARV: CUT THE MUSIC!

So Ruckus does. But then, he hits another button and the whole top length of the bus flips inside out, to reveal a 54” plasma screen T.V. playing a mash up of clips highlighting all the best moments of the Contourage members’ careers.

TMARV: Now THAT is cool.

AJ: Does it play video games too?

Ruckus smiles.

RUCKUS: Does it play video games too… You bet your karate-kicking ass it plays video games too. I’ve got a three 360s, four Wiis, and a port of the arcade classic, Time Crisis 2 built directly into the infrastructure. … Wanna see the inside?

-And turning, like Willy Wonka starting a tour of the chocolate factory, Ruckus climbs back up the stairs, followed by Terry and AJ.

TMARV: Dude, I may have been wrong about you. I always knew you were a great wrestler, but I had my doubts about the trustworthiness of this whole Contourage venture. But to know you spent all your S&C winnings on this… for us… That’s-

AJ: Pretty freakin’ awesome!

Ruckus smiles.

RUCKUS: Thanks, guys. But truth be told, I didn’t spend ALL the money on the Contourage-mobile. I spent some of it clearing up a couple issues from my past, and the rest, I gave to charity.

And that’s when the strobe light kicks on in the back of the bus, illuminating the small stage with the stripper pole in the center of it, where a drop-dead-gorgeous blonde in Contourage nipple pasties is starting about her “interpretive dance” to the sounds of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”

TMARV: Who is THAT?!

RUCKUS: That… is Charity. So have fun boys. But not too much. We have the biggest day of on short existence on Sunday. And I expect to make it a Rasslemania no one will EVER forget.

AJ: But in the meantime… SHOTS!

TIME LAPSE – ONE HOUR LATER

Charity is still dancing, but the guys are now seated around a table in the center of the bus, and it’s cluttered with shot glasses and various forms of liquor.

TMARV: You know guys, this is fun. I’ve got a really good feeling about this whole Contourage experiment.

AJ: Here here.

RUCKUS: Mas tequila!

TIME LAPSE – TWO HOURS LATER

Charity is now passed out, leaned against the stripper pole. And our gang is obviously more sloshed than before.

RUCKUS: Man, I love you guys. It’s going to be so awesome when one of us wins the Overdrive title.

AJ: For sure. Here’s to the Contourage. Respect is thicker than blood.

TMARV: Huzzah!

And they all clink glasses.

TIME LAPSE – THREE HOURS LATER

AJ: Alright, hic, all bullshit aside, I just want you guys to know, if the opportunity presents itself for me to slide past one of you two, to win that title, I’m totally going to take it.

TMARV: Oh good. Me too.

RUCKUS: Same. …Cheers!

Another shot is shared between them. And then, in a feat perhaps never achieved on a custom Charter Bus in the middle of the dessert, all three of our heroes pass out at exactly the same time.

And we FADE back TO:

. . .

STUDIO CITY, CALIFORNIA – NOW.

The backdrop behind Ruckus and Mick now reads: RASSLEMANIA 7.

RUCKUS: Like I said, Mick, team building. Because if the folks out there in wrestling land though Survive and Conquer was awesome, just WAIT till you catch Rasslemania. And on the amazing night, you’re going to see the beginning of the Contourage dynasty. Because the match this Sunday which is going to steal the whole rucking show is not some heavyweight title match we’ve seen three times before. It’s not some rematch for the tag straps, two months in the making. It’s not some hardcore wet dream broken-glass-fisted cluster-ruck. It’s going to be one match and one match alone… the Overdrive title scramble… Due entirely to the men who champion Honor Among Thieves… the faction sure to carry the future APW Overdrive champion… The Contourage. …Bet on it!

MICK: Well, folks, that’s all the time we have. I want to thank our full-episode guest, Ryan Ruckus, and wish him the best of luck this Sunday at Rasslemania. For Wrestling That Doesn’t Suck Balls, I’m Mick McElroy.

RUCKUS: And to all my Ruck-Heads out there, I’ll see you all at the pre-Rasslemania promo show. Keep it Real.

MICK: G’night.

Cue audience APPLAUSE.
Cue dimming lights and theme music.
And cue the slow CROSSFADE TO:

. . .



The time has come, the Ruckus said, to talk of many things. Of Contourage-y dominance and jackets made of wings. Of Chris Cyrus at ‘Mania, and once and future kings…

Ladies and gentlemen, this is IT. Every single thing that’s occurred in the past shitty year of my life comes down to this. I got my name back, I got my catchphrases and merchandise back. If I want to hit Biggs with a Director’s Cut before I hit him with a Cluster-Ruck, I can now. My money is spent, my faction has a super-sweet new bus, and everything, FOR ONCE, is going exactly according to plan. Yes, Rasslemania 7 will mark not only the birth of the Contourage Dynasty, but the Renaissance of Ryan Ruckus. Because the more things stay the same, the more they change.

I am tired of this every other week bullshit. I know that, you all know that. Everyone from President Jeff to Hannah Storm knows it. Hell, just check the interweb wrestling boards; 50 million Ruckus fans can’t be wrong. I am the heir apparent to the APW Overdrive championship, and now that I have –how do I say this politically- ‘paid my dues(?), I fully intend to rightfully claim what should most-likely already be mine. You listening Squiggles? I’m singling you out. Shouldn’t come as too much a surprise, everyone else is singling you out too. I even sent Chris Cyrus a Contourage shirt and told him he could be an honorary member for one night, just because his goal so closely parallel our own. And what is that goal you ask? Simple. You’ve been hearing the fans say it for months now.

Anyone but Biggs.

Anyone but Biggs.

ANYONE. BUT. BIGGS.

You say I’m crafty, evil, underhanded, opportunistic, and cheap. And that’s all true. You say I won’t bat an eye at taking a chance to win that strap before either of my teammates. That’s likely also true. But I’ll tell you something else that’s true. The moment I see your scrawny little ass climb the turnbuckle to hit whatever you call that whack-ass frog splash, I’ll take a finger poke of doom so fast, whoever pins me will have you title before you can crash back down to Earth. Call it personal if you want; it kind of is. See, when I first got here, I respected the Hell out of you. You were cocky and smarmy and scheme-y and fun. But then I realized, that’s all just an act. You are nowhere NEAR the personality you portray to keep your face on television. Cause the moment those cameras stop rolling, you return to you’re twisted Up-watching, teetotaling, Smelly-Ellie-submissive soap opera we’re are ALL so unlucky to see, week after week. And I promise you, I’m not the only one who knows this shit HAS to end.

So do I want to win the Overdrive title? You bet you foppy jacket I do. But would I rather see you LOSE the Overdrive title? Ruck to the yes. Just want to be upfront about that right now, so there’s no confusion. This, as almost all the other competitors in this match have claimed, is not a five-way championship scramble. It’s a four on one championship handicap match. And as long as no one we’ve heard from so far is blowing sunshine up our asses, then it is a statistical IMPOSSIBILITY for you to win this match, Moonboots. It may be sad, and it may be unfair, but it IS, man, and you should make peace with that.

I know there are other guys in the match. We haven’t heard much from AJ, he must’ve had too much tequila. But both Chris and Terry haven’t hidden the fact that they wouldn’t mind a run with that strap. Hell, my brother in arms pretty much said he’d step over me to get it. And good for him. Given the choice between more of the same and a brand new champ, I’d happily lay down to God’s Gift to Wrestling. Because just like if I won it or AJ won it, we each know we’d be the first ones in line for another shot, one on one. And the best thing about THAT is, if we wanted to, the three of us could just willingly trade the title back and forth every single time it’s defended. And in less time than it took you to have your 5 title defenses, we’d not only have beaten you at Rasslemania, but totally erased your legacy as the so-called greatest Overdrive champion of all time. Think about it, Gary Glitter, how long do you think it’d take each member of the Entourage to be FOUR-time Overdrive champion, if we’re defending the belt between each other every week? Three months? Four at the tops. And suddenly, the fans are saying, ‘Do you remember Biggs?’ and the other fans are saying, “Meh. But those CONTOURAGE guys… now THAT is winning. …Duh.”

You have the nerve to call US cowards, after how you bumped your scaredy-cat ass up that ramp, last Overdrive? Please… I’d bet dollars to donuts the REAL reason your wife’s been so moody over the past week is causes he had one RUCK of a time Cloroxing all the shit-stains out of your pretty little wrestling tights, once your life flashed before your eyes, via the threat of a Contourage beat down. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Biggs. You can’t even stand up to your whiney, selfish, cheating wife. What the blue hell are you going to do against four grown men all bent on destroying you? You say I set myself up for a loss against Level One, and I agree, because I’m the only wrestler who has ever TRULY beaten me. But you, my feathery friend, you’ve set yourself up for disintegration come Rasslemania. And everybody watching in the crowd and at home will pay witness to an epic sigh of relief, when they hear the words, “Here is your winner, and NEW Action Packed Wrestling Overdrive champion…
Ryan RUCKUS!!!

Or AJ KING!!!

Or Terry MARVIN!!!

Or pretty much-
ANYONE BUT BIGGS!!!

So keep hosting you Boy George pastiche web show and trying to spread dissention among our ranks. Because there isn’t anything you can say about us that we don’t already know about ourselves and each other. And there isn’t anything you can do to us that is anywhere CLOSE to what all of us are going to do to you. And there isn’t a prayer IN THE WORLD for your continued reign as Overdrive champion. Because Chris Cyrus is headed your way. The Contourage is headed your way. Terry Marvin and AJ King are headed your way. And the Conqueror… The Anti-Villain… The One Man Hall of Fame… The Patron Saint of Sin… Ryan ‘the Real Thing’ Ruckus is headed your way. And on the grandest stage of them all, in front of the entire wrestling world, you are finally going to have to come to terms with one undeniable truth. Moonboots, little buddy…

This Ruck’s for You!
.
.
.

And then, you drop the mic.


THE END