Nova
Just Like Law-Jesus
MUSICUP: "Life's Been Good" by Joe Walsh
(FADE IN: A full moon.) The camera shot pans down to a log cabin in the wilderness, surrounded by mountains and a vast, scenic lake. On the second floor deck of the cabin sits the 8-tiered ULTRATITLE trophy, glittering like a prom queen’s tiara in the moonlight. Seated around the trophy are Nova, the Hyperspace Kid, and a host of young, random faces. They all simulaneously raise shot glasses, Nova gives the nod, and they knock them back. Suddenly the camerashot zooms up into the sky as red, white, and blue fireworks begin explode in wide blanketing florrets.
(CUT TO: Two grey-haired, full-bearded hippies hold Nova’s legs steady as a girl holds a keg nozzle to his mouth and and a young man stares in disbelief at the stopwatch in his hands.) Nova kicks his legs violently and they let him down.
TIMEKEEPER: (Running off waving his arms in the air at the partiers down below) I DON’T BELIEVE IT! TWO MINUTES ON RED DOG’S HOMEBREW!
Nova gives a weak thumbs-up before lurching over the railing of the deck and vomiting a bucket’s worth of dark beer over the side. It lands in a massive splash on a well-dressed blonde standing by watching the ensuing chaos with a prudish scowl. She begins crying.
(CUT TO: Daylight coming through the cabin’s windows.) Nova positions his mouth over the two-inch diameter opening of a section of PVC pipe and gives a thumbs-up. The camera pans down, down, down to the first floor of the cabin, where a girl with dreadlocks nods and lights a bowl attached to the chamber section of the tubing. Nova huffs and huffs, eyes bulging, and then yanks his head away from the hole, spewing smoke out of his mouth and covering the opening with his free hand. He stumbles and flips over the railing down to the first floor, where he lands in a stack of hay bales. A moment passes, and then his head emerges, covered in straw, and he laughs. The camera catches a shot of the side of the ten-foot PVC tube, painted in red lightning bolts with ARMAGEDDON THE ENABLER scrawled in permanent marker length-wise.
(CUT TO: A shot of a campfire down by the water’s edge.) Around it, everyone is dressed in tank-tops and short shorts, dancing as if to ‘50s beach music. Nova crouches next to the blaze with the Hyperspace Kid, roasting marshmallows and drunkenly recalling their first meeting at the Demolition Derby.
(CUT TO: As rain cascades out of the sky, a girl grins seductively before placing a small white paper square onto the Eagle Star’s tongue.) In a giant mud pit next to the cabin, several dozen people mill around with frantic excitement. One young man grabs another and flips him overhead into a puddle. Steve Buscemi goose-steps over him, caked in mud and playing the electric violin. Others dance in a wild circle, raising their shaking hands to the sky. Nova stands in the middle, beating his fists against his chest before falling to his knees in the slop and screeching like an eagle.
(CUT TO: The darkness of the cabin interior, late at night.) A girl helps Nova up the stairs to the second floor, one of his arms tossed around her neck. He stumbles and falls against them before attempting to wave her on ahead with a few sluggish flicks of his wrist. She shakes her head and helps him back up. They move on, and he stumbles again but doesn’t fall.
(FTB)
(FADE IN: The smouldering remains of a campfire from the night before.) Bodies are strewn around it, half-wrapped by the two’s or three’s in single-man sleeping bags. Some of the partiers are roused by the *Clank clank clank* of beer cans bouncing across the grass as the Hyperspace Kid carefully steps over late risers on his way to the main cabin. One tousled youth pokes his head out of a sleeping bag, cupping his hand to his face to avoid the sunlight.
TOUSLED YOUTH: Duuuuude…it’s early…
HYPERSPACE KID: “Duuuuude”…GET YO’ ASS UP AND GET YO’ ASS DOWN ON SOME CLEANIN’! You wanna party hearty on my boy’s ticket, you best be ready to dance the dawn away pickin’ up some damn trash!
The Kid kicks a nearby beer can to emphasize his point.
TOUSLED YOUTH: Duuuude…I think I’m still rolling…
Sighing loudly, the Kid turns away.
HYPERSPACE KID: Have it your way, Phish-head…YO BUGS! HOLLA, BABY! IT’S TIME TO CORRAL THE KIDDIES, YA DIG?
Inside a ’64 Chevelle parked a few feet away, an arm lurches its way up into view and unlocks the back right passenger door. The Skull & Wings of the Hell’s Angels insignia is visible on the shoulder, and moments later the door is pushed open. Bottles of Schlitz malt liquor and Steel Reserve tallboys fall out onto the ground before Nathan “Bugs” Buggamon follows them, landing on the soft earth on his knees, one hand buried in his frazzled mop of graying hair.
BUGS: Ughhh…I dig, Kid, I dig. Just gimme a min-HOOOARGH!!
With something akin to a growl, he sprays straight half-digested beer all over the grass before wiping his foamy beard and standing up. He cracks his neck and reaches back into the Chevelle, retrieving an aluminum baseball bat and a metal trashcan lid. One can imagine the racket that ensues.
BUGS: (Banging the lid) RISE AND SHINE, KIDDIES! THIS PLACE WILL BE SPOTLESS IN ONE HOUR! AND YOU BETTER BELIEVE WE RECYCLE, SO I DON’T WANNA SEE NO F*CKIN’ CANS OR GLASS IN THE GARBAGE!
Leaving the property’s only form of security to handle the morning’s standard clean-up, the Hyperspace Kid continues on towards the main cabin. He jogs up the steps to the porch, noticing a passed-out Buscemi in the bushes cuddling with a giant stuffed Papa Smurf, and pushes open the front door. The odor hits him like a closed fist upside his dome.
HYPERSPACE KID: Blessed Mother of the Seventh Blazed Sun emittin’ jazzy sax solos across the Funkiocentric Galaxy! Smells like keg-water in here…the buggy kind!
The Kid jogs up the stairs and hangs a left past a canoe with a girl sprawled across it, wearing a beer hat that still dribbles from both sides down her cheeks, both of her hands clutching an Andy Warhol print that appears to have been ripped off the wall. He doesn’t bother knocking before opening the door to a king-sized waterbed with eight legs poking out of the bottom of the covers. The toenails are all painted.
HYPERSPACE KID: Alright now, everybody who ain’t the ULTRATITLE Champion, out, now! I gotta speak to the Man, one funk brotha to anotha!
A series of groans float out from underneath the down comforter before Nova’s head pops up, blonde hair frazzled. His eyes are squinted, still adjusting to the light, but he smiles broadly.
NOVA: KID! What’s the dealio, baby? Wake ‘n Bake?
The look on the Kid’s face does all the talking; it says “No, Nova, I would actually not enjoy that most hallowed of morning traditions at this moment in time.” A hand snakes its way out of the covers and up the Eagle Star’s chest, but seeing the Kid, he pushes it down.
NOVA: You heard the Kid. Everybody out.
The covers are thrown back and three women pout for a moment before scuttling out of the room, one of them grabbing a beer from the six-pack left out overnight on the dresser.
HYPERSPACE KID: Look, man…
NOVA: (Holding up a finger) Oop, wait a second…
Nova peeks under the covers, and nudges something with his foot.
NOVA: Orion, wake up. You gotta bounce for a minute.
An androgynous midget crawls out of the bottom of the covers and runs naked from the room. The Kid cocks an eyebrow.
HYPERSPACE KID: I thought you were all wantin’ to marry Lindsay Troy or some sh*t.
NOVA: (Lighting a cigarette) I am, but until she pops the question, my wedding dress stays in the closet – AND our little secret – and I continue to get my FREAX on. Now what’s up, playa? You holla’d, my ears are open. Hit me.
HYPERSPACE KID: Okay. Ya done lived it up enough. The party’s gotta take a back seat for a while. I talked to the Chairman. You…
NOVA: Wait, you guys were discussing me behind my back? About the partying? What the motherf*ck, man? I did what you wanted, I stopped Yori, we saved the world, we…
HYPERSPACE KID: Chill, Eagle Star. It wasn’t nothin’. You won the ULTRATITLE and that’s gorgeous, baby…gorgeous. You deserve the R & R and ain’t a damn soul sayin’ you don’t, but it’s been weeks, son. You gotta get yo’ head back in the game! You’re the Eagle Star, the Chosen One, not just ours but the New Frontier’s too, ya dig? There’re new kids floodin’ in to get this sh*t jumpin’ OFF at the end of the summer…challenges already bein’ made ‘n met, baby!
NOVA: (Exhaling smoke) But I’ve got my shot at the big strap guaranteed at Wrestlestock 2. What does it matter?
HYPERSPACE KID: Hiroshi could pick anybody on the contender’s list to face before then…even you. You can’t be restin’ on ya laurels, Starchild. In the playoffs you were hot and sharp as f*ckin’ cut Rebar, wasn’t no stoppin’ you from droppin’ the Chronic on any sucka stupid enough to stand between you and the goal-line! You gotta keep that fire…that DRAGONFIRE, baby~! You gotta keep bein’ what we said you was, or what was ever the point, feel me?
The Risen Star runs his fingers over the eagle brand he received at the hands of Mike Randalls after defeating Eli Flair in the Western Conference Finals.
NOVA: I feel you.
The Kid removes a blunt from behind his ear and sparks it, a grin spreading across his face for the first time all morning.
HYPERSPACE KID: So whatchoo gon’ do, playa?
The Eagle Star looks up at him, blowing smoke out of his nostrils before putting his cigarette out in an empty beer can next to the bed.
NOVA: I’m gonna make the challenge. Send for my car.
HYPERSPACE KID: Bugs puked in it.
NOVA: Send for my boat.
HYPERSPACE KID: Drunk B*tch sank it in the lake.
NOVA: Send for my plane.
HYPERSPACE KID: Drunk B*tch crashed it into the boat.
NOVA: Piggy-back me out to my bicycle.
HYPERSPACE KID: Aight. Let’s roll.
(FTB)
(FADE IN: A full moon.) The camera shot pans down to a log cabin in the wilderness, surrounded by mountains and a vast, scenic lake. On the second floor deck of the cabin sits the 8-tiered ULTRATITLE trophy, glittering like a prom queen’s tiara in the moonlight. Seated around the trophy are Nova, the Hyperspace Kid, and a host of young, random faces. They all simulaneously raise shot glasses, Nova gives the nod, and they knock them back. Suddenly the camerashot zooms up into the sky as red, white, and blue fireworks begin explode in wide blanketing florrets.
(CUT TO: Two grey-haired, full-bearded hippies hold Nova’s legs steady as a girl holds a keg nozzle to his mouth and and a young man stares in disbelief at the stopwatch in his hands.) Nova kicks his legs violently and they let him down.
TIMEKEEPER: (Running off waving his arms in the air at the partiers down below) I DON’T BELIEVE IT! TWO MINUTES ON RED DOG’S HOMEBREW!
Nova gives a weak thumbs-up before lurching over the railing of the deck and vomiting a bucket’s worth of dark beer over the side. It lands in a massive splash on a well-dressed blonde standing by watching the ensuing chaos with a prudish scowl. She begins crying.
(CUT TO: Daylight coming through the cabin’s windows.) Nova positions his mouth over the two-inch diameter opening of a section of PVC pipe and gives a thumbs-up. The camera pans down, down, down to the first floor of the cabin, where a girl with dreadlocks nods and lights a bowl attached to the chamber section of the tubing. Nova huffs and huffs, eyes bulging, and then yanks his head away from the hole, spewing smoke out of his mouth and covering the opening with his free hand. He stumbles and flips over the railing down to the first floor, where he lands in a stack of hay bales. A moment passes, and then his head emerges, covered in straw, and he laughs. The camera catches a shot of the side of the ten-foot PVC tube, painted in red lightning bolts with ARMAGEDDON THE ENABLER scrawled in permanent marker length-wise.
(CUT TO: A shot of a campfire down by the water’s edge.) Around it, everyone is dressed in tank-tops and short shorts, dancing as if to ‘50s beach music. Nova crouches next to the blaze with the Hyperspace Kid, roasting marshmallows and drunkenly recalling their first meeting at the Demolition Derby.
(CUT TO: As rain cascades out of the sky, a girl grins seductively before placing a small white paper square onto the Eagle Star’s tongue.) In a giant mud pit next to the cabin, several dozen people mill around with frantic excitement. One young man grabs another and flips him overhead into a puddle. Steve Buscemi goose-steps over him, caked in mud and playing the electric violin. Others dance in a wild circle, raising their shaking hands to the sky. Nova stands in the middle, beating his fists against his chest before falling to his knees in the slop and screeching like an eagle.
(CUT TO: The darkness of the cabin interior, late at night.) A girl helps Nova up the stairs to the second floor, one of his arms tossed around her neck. He stumbles and falls against them before attempting to wave her on ahead with a few sluggish flicks of his wrist. She shakes her head and helps him back up. They move on, and he stumbles again but doesn’t fall.
(FTB)
------*~*~*------
(FADE IN: The smouldering remains of a campfire from the night before.) Bodies are strewn around it, half-wrapped by the two’s or three’s in single-man sleeping bags. Some of the partiers are roused by the *Clank clank clank* of beer cans bouncing across the grass as the Hyperspace Kid carefully steps over late risers on his way to the main cabin. One tousled youth pokes his head out of a sleeping bag, cupping his hand to his face to avoid the sunlight.
TOUSLED YOUTH: Duuuuude…it’s early…
HYPERSPACE KID: “Duuuuude”…GET YO’ ASS UP AND GET YO’ ASS DOWN ON SOME CLEANIN’! You wanna party hearty on my boy’s ticket, you best be ready to dance the dawn away pickin’ up some damn trash!
The Kid kicks a nearby beer can to emphasize his point.
TOUSLED YOUTH: Duuuude…I think I’m still rolling…
Sighing loudly, the Kid turns away.
HYPERSPACE KID: Have it your way, Phish-head…YO BUGS! HOLLA, BABY! IT’S TIME TO CORRAL THE KIDDIES, YA DIG?
Inside a ’64 Chevelle parked a few feet away, an arm lurches its way up into view and unlocks the back right passenger door. The Skull & Wings of the Hell’s Angels insignia is visible on the shoulder, and moments later the door is pushed open. Bottles of Schlitz malt liquor and Steel Reserve tallboys fall out onto the ground before Nathan “Bugs” Buggamon follows them, landing on the soft earth on his knees, one hand buried in his frazzled mop of graying hair.
BUGS: Ughhh…I dig, Kid, I dig. Just gimme a min-HOOOARGH!!
With something akin to a growl, he sprays straight half-digested beer all over the grass before wiping his foamy beard and standing up. He cracks his neck and reaches back into the Chevelle, retrieving an aluminum baseball bat and a metal trashcan lid. One can imagine the racket that ensues.
BUGS: (Banging the lid) RISE AND SHINE, KIDDIES! THIS PLACE WILL BE SPOTLESS IN ONE HOUR! AND YOU BETTER BELIEVE WE RECYCLE, SO I DON’T WANNA SEE NO F*CKIN’ CANS OR GLASS IN THE GARBAGE!
Leaving the property’s only form of security to handle the morning’s standard clean-up, the Hyperspace Kid continues on towards the main cabin. He jogs up the steps to the porch, noticing a passed-out Buscemi in the bushes cuddling with a giant stuffed Papa Smurf, and pushes open the front door. The odor hits him like a closed fist upside his dome.
HYPERSPACE KID: Blessed Mother of the Seventh Blazed Sun emittin’ jazzy sax solos across the Funkiocentric Galaxy! Smells like keg-water in here…the buggy kind!
The Kid jogs up the stairs and hangs a left past a canoe with a girl sprawled across it, wearing a beer hat that still dribbles from both sides down her cheeks, both of her hands clutching an Andy Warhol print that appears to have been ripped off the wall. He doesn’t bother knocking before opening the door to a king-sized waterbed with eight legs poking out of the bottom of the covers. The toenails are all painted.
HYPERSPACE KID: Alright now, everybody who ain’t the ULTRATITLE Champion, out, now! I gotta speak to the Man, one funk brotha to anotha!
A series of groans float out from underneath the down comforter before Nova’s head pops up, blonde hair frazzled. His eyes are squinted, still adjusting to the light, but he smiles broadly.
NOVA: KID! What’s the dealio, baby? Wake ‘n Bake?
The look on the Kid’s face does all the talking; it says “No, Nova, I would actually not enjoy that most hallowed of morning traditions at this moment in time.” A hand snakes its way out of the covers and up the Eagle Star’s chest, but seeing the Kid, he pushes it down.
NOVA: You heard the Kid. Everybody out.
The covers are thrown back and three women pout for a moment before scuttling out of the room, one of them grabbing a beer from the six-pack left out overnight on the dresser.
HYPERSPACE KID: Look, man…
NOVA: (Holding up a finger) Oop, wait a second…
Nova peeks under the covers, and nudges something with his foot.
NOVA: Orion, wake up. You gotta bounce for a minute.
An androgynous midget crawls out of the bottom of the covers and runs naked from the room. The Kid cocks an eyebrow.
HYPERSPACE KID: I thought you were all wantin’ to marry Lindsay Troy or some sh*t.
NOVA: (Lighting a cigarette) I am, but until she pops the question, my wedding dress stays in the closet – AND our little secret – and I continue to get my FREAX on. Now what’s up, playa? You holla’d, my ears are open. Hit me.
HYPERSPACE KID: Okay. Ya done lived it up enough. The party’s gotta take a back seat for a while. I talked to the Chairman. You…
NOVA: Wait, you guys were discussing me behind my back? About the partying? What the motherf*ck, man? I did what you wanted, I stopped Yori, we saved the world, we…
HYPERSPACE KID: Chill, Eagle Star. It wasn’t nothin’. You won the ULTRATITLE and that’s gorgeous, baby…gorgeous. You deserve the R & R and ain’t a damn soul sayin’ you don’t, but it’s been weeks, son. You gotta get yo’ head back in the game! You’re the Eagle Star, the Chosen One, not just ours but the New Frontier’s too, ya dig? There’re new kids floodin’ in to get this sh*t jumpin’ OFF at the end of the summer…challenges already bein’ made ‘n met, baby!
NOVA: (Exhaling smoke) But I’ve got my shot at the big strap guaranteed at Wrestlestock 2. What does it matter?
HYPERSPACE KID: Hiroshi could pick anybody on the contender’s list to face before then…even you. You can’t be restin’ on ya laurels, Starchild. In the playoffs you were hot and sharp as f*ckin’ cut Rebar, wasn’t no stoppin’ you from droppin’ the Chronic on any sucka stupid enough to stand between you and the goal-line! You gotta keep that fire…that DRAGONFIRE, baby~! You gotta keep bein’ what we said you was, or what was ever the point, feel me?
The Risen Star runs his fingers over the eagle brand he received at the hands of Mike Randalls after defeating Eli Flair in the Western Conference Finals.
NOVA: I feel you.
The Kid removes a blunt from behind his ear and sparks it, a grin spreading across his face for the first time all morning.
HYPERSPACE KID: So whatchoo gon’ do, playa?
The Eagle Star looks up at him, blowing smoke out of his nostrils before putting his cigarette out in an empty beer can next to the bed.
NOVA: I’m gonna make the challenge. Send for my car.
HYPERSPACE KID: Bugs puked in it.
NOVA: Send for my boat.
HYPERSPACE KID: Drunk B*tch sank it in the lake.
NOVA: Send for my plane.
HYPERSPACE KID: Drunk B*tch crashed it into the boat.
NOVA: Piggy-back me out to my bicycle.
HYPERSPACE KID: Aight. Let’s roll.
(FTB)