So, so, hey, hey! Okay, okay, so, a guy walks into a convenience store and he asks the cashier, "Do you have any helicopter flavored potato chips?" The cashier says no, and...

Do you want to know what he said?

Santos: Uh, what?

The cashier says, "No, we only have plain!" Get it, plain! As in, plain is like plane! Get it?

Santos: Um, yeah. Funny.

Here's another one: So a horse walks into a bar, and the bartender asks, "Why the long face?" Ha!

Santos: Yup, heard that when I was in middle school. Listen, thanks for the entertainment, but honestly, we're stuck next to one another for a few more hours. I'm gonna lay my head back on this head rest and pretend that I don't know you exist. Sound good? Good.

Let's set the scene a bit here. We're on Flight 3254 from San Diego, California to Cleveland, Ohio. Tony Santos is huddled in a window seat, Row 18. Next to him, a man by the name of, well, he hasn't exactly divulged that information yet...

I'm Lionel!

There we go. Lionel. Lionel has been Tony's airplane companion for the last two hours on this wretched, turbulent flight. However, Lionel was no kid, no no. And he was certainly no mere fan. Lionel was to be Tony's personal escort from California to Ohio. See, Tony, in his infinite wisdom, upon being kicked out of his San Diego hotel and booted to Cleveland for Monday Night Madness, opened up the Yellow Pages (yes, those still exist) and called an escort service to "get some things off his chest."

Unfortunately, this wasn't Craigslist, so he happened to call an offbeat escort service, based out of San Francisco, that accompanies people, mainly senior citizens, on trips to grocery stores, the post office, etc., the assist them with otherwise simple tasks that they may have trouble completing on their own.

However, these folks have no limits, as long as you're willing to pay them for their trouble. Tony, upon calling, was greeted by a young 20-something with a sweet voice, and he thought he'd hit the jackpot. Upon flirting, and failing, over the course of a ten minute conversation with this woman, she asked where he was going and what services he needed. Tony, not understanding the real nature of the request, responded with "Cleveland" and "Mile High Club." After divulging the details of his flight, how long the trip was going to be, and the anticipated cost, Tony was booked to meet a woman by the name of Sasha at the airport. With plane tickets booked, courtesy of the nice woman at the front desk, Tony was on his way to a glorious plane ride and a fantastically expensive, but satisfying, trip to Ohio.

Upon his arrival, he was stunned to find a short, plump man in his early 30s with a Tony Santos t-shirt on his back. No, no, it wasn't a real Tony Santos t-shirt. They didn't make those. Not for week-long champions. No, Lionel happened to be a devoted Santos follower. He had customized his own Santos t-shirt with magazine cut-outs, online photos, and anything else that was printable or cutable, brought his creation to a t-shirt printing company, where they... rejected his idea. So he taped the cut-outs to a black t-shirt and called it a Santos fan t-shirt.

Lionel, having seen that the services of the one and only Tony Santos were being requested for a cross-country trip, jumped at the opportunity and begged to be placed with Santos. The woman who set up the Sasha-Santos pairing, having been appalled at Tony's lack of decor, happily obliged, pitting Tony with the Bay Area's least favorite "escort."

So here Tony was, stuck on a plane with a superfan that he had paid to have with him. Even worse, the reason that good ol' Lionel was on this plane was because Tony wanted to satisfy his sexual urges.

Tony shivers in disgust at the thought.

And yes, Lionel's response to Tony passive-aggressively telling him to shut up was to shout his name in Tony's face.

Lionel: So, what ya doin' going to Cleveland? Why'd you need me to tag along?

Tony glares in Lionel's direction. Despite there only being two seats occupied in their three-person row, Lionel felt the need to not only sit in the middle seat, but to lean over right in Tony's face, seat belt off (against FAA Regulations, tsk tsk), and give Tony a nice whiff of his grape Jolly Rancher breath. Tony shoves Lionel to the left, providing him with only about a foot of comfort.

Santos: A dude with my face plastered all over his t-shirt doesn't know why I'm going to Cleveland?

Lionel shakes his head in disappointment.

Santos: Monday Night MEGA Madness, kid. I got kicked off Warfare. You did know that, right?

Lionel, who hasn't stopped shaking his head for some odd reason, continues to do so, possibly having heard Tony's question, but... possibly not. Tony sighs, already agitated by this back and forth.

Santos: Yeah, that's why I'm flying out of San Diego... You know, the city where that wretched show is located?

Lionel nods his head in agreement.

Santos: Good, you understand something. Do you understand what it means to shut the hell up?

Lionel is still nodding his head...

Santos: Why are you still nodding your head?

Lionel stops.

Lionel: So a guy walks in to a bar...

Santos: Sweet Jesus, not this again...

Lionel just sits upright, staring at Tony, smiling. Not your typical human smile, no no. He's smiling like a dog waiting for its treat for doing something special.

Santos: Aren't you going to finish?

Lionel: That was it! He walks IN TO a bar! Ha! Get it??

Santos: Christ, yes, the joke is that he walked into a steel bar or something. Holy Christ, dude. Can you just go to sleep or something?

Tony turns over on his right side, his head facing the window. Staring out of the plane through the narrow opening between his eyelids, he's starting to seriously consider how much better it would be to be free falling out of this plane right now.

Lionel: So, who ya facin' on Monday?

Santos: Jessie Diaz.

Lionel: Ooh, a girl? You can't fight a girl, can you?

Santos: Yup, guess I can. That's what I'm gonna be doing on Monday.

Lionel: Do you think you'll win?

Santos: Sure.

Lionel: Do you think you'll get cooties?

Tony turns back over to look at Lionel.

Santos: What? How old are you?

Lionel: 33!

Santos: Wife?

Lionel: Nope!

Santos: Girlfriend?

Lionel: Never!

Tony frowns. He's too sober to deal with this unwanted escort, and Lionel's beginning to, well, no, he's completely worn thin with Tony. All Tony wants to do is sleep until he's landed in Ohio.

Santos: Listen dude. Here's the deal. You wanna know what's up? You're on a flight to Cleveland, Ohio with me, not because I need some mental midget to help me carry my bags from the airport to the arena, and sure as hell not for conversation. I called for an escort because I wanted to get a nut off, and I thought that's what I was getting in to when I called a god damn escort service. THAT'S why you're here.

Lionel: So you pay for hanky panky because you can't get it for free?

Tony's taken aback. Was that an insult, or was Lionel genuinely using the term "hanky panky" in reference to sex? Tony didn't truly care at this point.

Santos: Um, well, no. I have a girlfriend...

Lionel: Then why are you trying to get with a man?

Santos: No! The escort service was for a woman! But, but...

Tony stutters, partly because he's caught off guard, partly because he may be slightly concussed just from the conversation that's taken place, but mainly because he's losing an argument to a 33-year-old wrestling fanboy whose greatest love in his life is his mother.

Santos: Listen! Shut up for the rest of this god damn flight! You understand me? When we get to Cleveland, I'll let you in to the arena to watch my match. You'll get to watch me in action, because I'm a charitable fucking guy like that...

But only if you SHUT UP.

Don't talk, for the rest of this flight. I need to rest my brain so that I can rattle Diaz's on Monday night. I can't have some imbecile killing my buzz and throwing me off of my game. You're gonna see the best in action kid, your favorite wrestler, your hero. You'll get to see MY beautiful god damned face as I strut down that ramp in the Quicken Loans Arena, my fantastic god damned music blaring from the speakers, the grungy Clevelanders getting their rocks off to me just SHOWING UP.

I'll be at the top of my game, dropping Diaz with the Tony Award, finishing her off with the ALWAYS gorgeous Final Destination. Kid, it's gonna be art, like it always is. I'm gonna put on a damn SHOW, just like I did against Agent Orange...

Tony starts counting the names of the people he's defeated on his fingers.

Santos: Stevie Tyler, Peter Gilmour, Sebastian Duke, Salvan Van...

Okay, he doesn't count, but them and ALL OF THE OTHERS. But, and this is a big BUT...

Only if you SHUT. THE. HELL. UP.

Tony, face beat red, the bandage covering the stitches on his forehead hanging by a thread, the sweat emanating from his forehead having quickly peeled it from Tony's skin. Breathing heavily, Tony stares straight into the puppy dog eyes of Lionel, who's still smiling, seemingly unfazed by what has just transpired.

Their fellow passengers on Flight 3254 are either asleep, oblivious to the ruckus due to their headphones drowning out the noise with their tunes of choice, or staring in bewilderment at the two men in Row 18. The flight attendants, unsure whether to approach the obviously unstable Santos, just stare, standing at attention, hoping that this was just a dream; that Santos wasn't about to cause a disaster in the air.

Lionel smiles.

Lionel: So a guy walks into a bar, and you know what he says?

Santos: Jesus Christ.

The scene fades to black.

September 2013 and May 2019 Star of the Month
1x Hart Champion
1x Television Champion
1x Xtreme Champion