Monday morning. Cleveland, Ohio. Grumpy's Cafe.



An exhausted and agitated Tony Santos, his long, brown locks pulled up into a ponytail, wearing gym shorts and a plain, white t-shirt, limps his way up the sidewalk to the main entrance of this small, yet incredibly popular grub spot in Cleveland. Looking like a college kid stumbling along to reach a trough of bacon and eggs to wipe clean that incredible Sunday morning hangover, if Cleveland had any decent colleges in this area to speak of in the first place, Tony elicits curious stares from rubberneckers driving by. However, Tony's current state was partially due to the fact that he was still in incredible pain from his casket match with Elisha (he refuses to touch painkillers), and partially because he hadn't had a drink in a good few days. Alcohol withdrawal is not for the faint of heart.

Tony comes to a halt and looks behind him.

Santos: Hey! What the hell are you doing?

In tow is his trusty "escort," Lionel. However, good ol', portly, innocent, and stupid Lionel had decided to sit, Indian style, next to a fire hydrant, and start petting it. Why?

Santos: Are you a god damn idiot?

Yeah, that was probably why.

Santos, not in the mood for waiting for his mentally deficient sidekick, limps over to Lionel and yanks him by his Tony Santos t-shirt and lifts him to his feet. Smacking Lionel across the back of the head, he drags him hard by the arm up the sidewalk, to the entrance of Grumpy's. Waiting at the entrance is none other than the kid, the intern, Jeremy.

Jeremy, having put up with months of Tony's stupidity and inanity, can only smile and enjoy the sight in front of him: Tony dealing with someone more "challenged" than he is.

Jeremy: Who's this fine gentleman? Your new best friend?

Santos: Shut up and open the door.

Jeremy chuckles to himself and opens the door. The clanging of doorbells emanates throughout the restaurant as the trio walks inside. The camera pans the area, which is basically one big room, adorned with pictures of Cleveland landmarks, including Cleveland City Hall, Old Stone Church, and the Colonial Arcade. The walls are covered in a fine maroon coating, and small tables and a take-out/dining counter sits in the back, kitchen looming just behind it. Its diners consist of handfuls of senior citizens. In the far right corner are a group of war vets playing cards and enjoying some coffee pastries, while over on the left are two couples, one chatting away with one another about the week's news, while the other sits in silence, the gentleman eating a modest breakfast of two eggs over easy and some home fries, while the woman, presumably his wife, enjoys a waffle lightly topped with whipped cream and strawberries. Both have coffees, black, of course.

In walks the trio. Jeremy, looking to be the only normal one of the group, is dressed in a blue polo shirt and khakis, while Lionel is still in the same, thrown-together outfit that he had on the day prior. Tony? Well, as was already mentioned, Tony just looks like hell.

Jeremy: Where do you wanna sit? It looks like we seat ourselves.

Tony, in his never-ending charm and strong sense of decor, says...

Santos: I don't fuckin' care. Let's sit here.

Pointing to his right.

Santos: I just want some fucking eggs and hash.

The elder woman with the waffles looks up from her coffee, which she'd been stirring seemingly out of that mindless boredom that comes with being old and retired, nothing to talk about, nothing interesting happening, and stares at Tony, slightly insulted by his tone and the volume in which he projected it. Tony, oblivious to his surroundings, plops himself down on the outside seat, making the kid maneuver around him for the inside spot. Tony rocks in chair and is clearly displeased.

Santos: Ah, fuckin' crap, I got a wobbly chair!

Tony, using his ingenuity, pulls his pack of Marlboro Blacks from his pocket, pulls out the two remaining cigarettes, and places the pack under the faulty leg. He rocks back and forth a bit more and smiles, satisfied by his smarts.

The kid, sitting on the inside of Tony, fiddles with his silverware, as well as the Heinz ketchup bottle to his right, placing them in just the right spots, then proceeds to do the same with his salt and pepper shakers. Turns out that Jeremy is just a wee bit obsessive-compulsive.

On the other end of the table: good ol' Lionel, sitting upright, smiling. He has that same, stupid smile on his face that he had on the airplane the day before. He just sits, at attention, waiting for either Tony's orders or to be told how good of a boy he is.

Jeremy: So, who is this happy camper, sir?

Tony, sensing the sarcasm in Jeremy's voice, glares at him, then looks at Lionel.

Santos: Stop looking at me like that, you idiot. I paid you to tag along, but to be invisible. Instead, I can't get that stupid smile out of my head, because I'm always seeing it. Quit fucking doing that.

Lionel doesn't move a muscle. Santos, frustrated, turns to Jeremy.

Santos: He's my paid "escort" for this trip. I need someone to help me get from San Diego to here in one piece, and he was what the company gave me. He hasn't been the greatest god damn help though, I'll tell ya that. He just stares at me like a moron and tells moronic jokes.

Lionel: He paid me to have sex with him!

Jeremy's eyes widen as his head makes a sudden turn to Tony.

Jeremy: WHAT?!

Lionel yelps as Tony kicks him in the shin.

Santos: Um, well, no. I, uh, was trying to... well. I was trying to get a female escort to help me get to the San Diego airport, when... there was a misunderstanding...

Jeremy: Sir, "female escorts" don't get paid to help young men get to the airport...

Tony, visibly anxious, blurts out...

Santos: I was trying to get laid before leaving San Diego! Better?!

Just then, a middle-aged waitress, who, by the way, was anything but grumpy, had walked over and was now standing right beside Tony. Stunned, the smile that had covered her face had turned into a look of confusion/worry. Tony, noticing this, attempts to diffuse the ensuing tension.

Santos: Can I get some god damn eggs and corned beef hash over here? Hi. Coffee too. Black is fine.

Waitress: Um, okay. How would you like them cooked?

The waitress gives her best attempt at a smile, which is quickly broken once Tony responds...

Santos: Over fucking easy. Do people even get eggs any other way? If they do, they're stupid. Scrambled is for children and people that don't appreciate the taste and texture of yolk oozing over your home fries and...

Oh yeah, I want home fries too.

Oozing over your home fries and hash. It's god damn heaven, I tell ya. Heaven. Sunny side up is for people that like to do things backwards, and lefties, because lefties do everything the opposite way, just to, you know, go against the grain and shit.

The waitress, slightly confused by Tony's odd rant about eggs and southpaws, simply scrawls symbols and shorthand for the things that Tony has ordered. Looking to Jeremy and Lionel, they both order: Jeremy ordering french toast and two pancakes, and Lionel ordering, fish? Yes, he ordered fish. Lionel wanted the Cajun Catfish, which they, in non-grumpy fashion, agreed to cook up just for him.

Wait, no...

Lionel: Actually, sorry, can I get a potato?

The waitress chimes in in her rough, three pack-a-day induced voice...

Waitress: Um, excuse me? Do you mean some home fries?

Lionel: No, a potato. I want a potato.

Waitress: Um, okay, I'll see what I can do...

And with that, the waitress headed to the back. She literally never came back with any food for any of those three, hoping they'd just leave on their own volition.

Really, Tony, Jeremy, and Lionel sat at that table for another 45 minutes, without food or drink, and talked. Yup.

Jeremy: So, let's get down to brass tacks, sir. Tonight, you have to be on your game. Tonight you're debuting on your new show. Tonight, you're on MEGA Madness. Tonight, you need to get your head in the game and get back on the winning end of things. How ya feeling?

Santos: Since when the hell did you care about my wrestling career? Aren't you supposed to be some sort of photog?

Jeremy: Sir, I have two weeks left with you before I'm back at BU for another school year. Can you please let me try to care about the reason that I'm here, while I'm still here?

Lionel: Final Destination!!

Santos: Shut up, Lionel.

All right, fine. Even though the real reason you're here is because you were supposed to be getting some video journalism skills down, and you haven't done a damn thing related to that seemingly after two weeks, I'll bite.

Jessie Diaz. She's apparently gonna make me weak at the knees. She's going to take out my ONLY form of offense. Kid, I think she's gonna blow me...

Jeremy: Sir...

Santos: I'm serious, right there in the middle of that very ring. That's what it sounds like based on an interview she did last night. She's gonna do everything that Lionel was supposed to do to me...

Jeremy: Wait, sir?

Santos: Ah, not Lionel. Sasha, in place of Lionel. What Sasha was supposed to do to me. Sasha!

Tony flashes an uncomfortable smile.

Santos: Kid, in all seriousness, tonight, I debut for Paul Heyman. Tonight, I fight on behalf of Warfare for the last time, in my new home. Kid, tonight I get to get a little, what was it you called it Lionel? Ah, yes, a little hanky panky.

Lionel: Hanky panky!

Santos: Shut up, Lionel. Kid, tonight you're gonna wish you didn't have to head back to school. Tonight, I'm gonna inspire you. Tonight, I'm gonna impress you. Tonight, I'm gonna make you smile. I'm gonna make Lionel smi... well, he's always smiling, I think.

Tonight, I smile for Jessie. Her multiple personality disorder, her distaste for the wrestling profession, it's all gotten to her. It's made her a bit... sad. Well, I wanna let Jessie know...

Santos smiles for you. Yup, for YOU, Jessie. And I'll be smiling when I kick your teeth down your throat. Hell, if you take out my legs, I'll be damn happy to stretch you like a rubber band in a crossface, or muster up just enough strength to end you with the Santos Stretch. Honey bee, I'm damn well happy to smile for you, and I look forward to doing so tonight.

And kid, after Diaz is done, I've got my sights on two people in particular. Two fine gentlemen on this new show of mine. One whom I've faced, and lost to multiple times, and the other who I literally know little to nothing about. I'm talking about Mr. Satellite and Luca Arzegotti. They took the time to flatter me with their presence and aid Elisha to victory last week, and in due time, I'm gonna take the time to repay them ever so dearly.

But that's for another day, kid. Tonight, I'll be smiling wide.

Santos leans back in his chair and grins. However, his grin soon turns south as he smells freshly prepared eggs that clearly aren't his.

Santos: Where is my god damn food?!

It would never come. It would never, ever come.

The scene fades to black.

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