A small bed in a little farmhouse. Everything is sepia-toned for some reason. Lying down with an oversized bandage over a head wound is Scott Hunter.
Standing there are his loyal Assistant Craig Massey, plus three extras that he paid for with the money he found in a sofa.
All of them look very concerned.
Slowly, his eyes open.
Craig: You’re awake! Guys!…he’s awake!
Scott: Wh-wh-where am I? Auntie Em, is that you?
Craig: Um… no, it’s me… Craig! You must’ve hit yer head somethin’ awful, sir, cuz you been sleepin’ for right near three weeks now.
Scott: Three weeks?! But I have to train! I have to be ready! I have a match at ClassicMania against the Ageless Macchiatos.
Craig: Um… that actually happened several weeks ago. They had to use Bobby Dean instead of you because no one could find you anywhere.
Scott: Oh my. Last I remember, I was taking Toto and running away, then there came a twister! I reckon I hit my head when the window flew open from the wind…
Craig: Well you’re back home safe and sound… back in good old 1955…
Craig: Hold on a second…
Craig pulls out some papers from his back pocket.
Craig: You’re mixing up movie references here. The Wizard of Oz has nothing to do with 1955 and I don’t even know who these guys are…
Craig points at the extras.
Scott: Dangit, Craig! I told you, just follow the script I gave you. You didn’t even get to the part where I tell Bobby Dean how I’m his huckleberry… and in an old West accent, too!!
Craig: Do we really have to do all of this? So you missed the biggest Classic show of the year. You’re back now! Why go to all this trouble?
Scott: (wistfully) I don’t know, Craig. It’s just… something’s missing. I’ve been struggling in my matches lately. Ever since Bobby Dean sat on me a few months back, my wrestling has been a little flat.
Scott turns slightly to the camera, then back to Craig.
Scott: But while you’re mentioning it, yes, I’m back. I just need to know who the unlucky opponent will be…
Craig: Your opponent is… (screaming) SGT (not screaming) Justice.
Scott: (confused) Why did you scream the first part at me?
Craig: It’s right here on this paper in all caps. I assume that means you’re supposed to scream it.
Scott rubs his chin thoughtfully.
Scott: Hmm… SGT Justice, eh?
Craig pulls out a glossy 8×10 and shoves it in Scott’s face. On it is a promotional photo of SGT Justice in full wrestling cop gear.
Scott Hunter: I’m sure it would be wise to go back and look at some of his work, but I need only look at him once and that’s enough to know that it would be a waste of time. I don’t have any interest in the YMCA or being a macho macho man, and I already know that in the Navy you can sail the seven seas and put your mind at ease. It’s bad enough that he’s screaming his rank at me, but I’m supposed to listen to him sing mediocre 1970s pop, too?? That dastardly misanthrope.
Craig: Dastardly what?
Craig: Do you even know what that word means?
Scott stares at him, then blinks, then blinks again, then points a finger at Craig.
Scott: And furthermore, he probably isn’t even a SERGEANT!!!! at all…
Craig: Dangit, my ears!
Craig covers his ears.
Scott: So… a fake Sergeant… I mean… SERGEANT!!! who sings and dances in synchronized choreography with four other questionably dressed blue-collar workers.. And an Indian. How racially insensitive can you be? And you dare to have ‘Justice’ in your name. The only justice you’ll see this week will be when I tie your bowlegged knees into knots and make you tap out like the racist rent-a-cop you are! You hear me?! Racist! You! Are!
Craig shakes his head, and the extras take a hike.
Scott: I’ve been out too long. I need to talk to Frank. I’m sure he has been so concerned about his tag team partner and is just worried sick! Where are the flowers he probably sent me?
Craig: Um, boss. About that…
Scott: No flowers?
Craig: No flowers. Also, he might want to kill you.
Scott: Oh. That complicates things.
Craig: He’ll probably destroy you the first chance he gets.
Scott: Don’t worry… I have a plan…