Seems sudden success shook FWF’s best...
Lunchbox Larry, the Fans Wrestling Federation’s first ever World Champion, went AWOL almost immediately after the successful Christmas special; Make America Wrestle Again.
After a grueling night which saw him fight the two most important matches in his short career, not to forget a run-in with the one and only Buddy Showtime, FWF staffers escorted Larry to the back where they had an autograph signing set up. With his own booth, matching the FWF orange and black theme, advertising free signatures from its first World Champ… well, it’s safe to say Lunchbox was greeted by a line that went out the door.
We were also told that Stalker had a booth next to Larry’s, with a decent line of his own… but he never showed.
What’s that saying about history?
According to fans, Larry signed as many autographs as he could. He frantically tried to hammer them out as if he knew something was about to happen… and then it did. In what we are learning is classic Larry fashion, the FWF Champ turned ghost white when the door swung open and he saw just how long his line went back. Then he dropped right out of his chair.
Physicians, not so familiar with Lunchbox’s people issue, quickly concluded the loss of consciousness as a result of some physical injury or fatigue. So, naturally, they rushed the World Champ to the nearest hospital.
Some witnesses to the fainting went on record, stating that the weirdest part of it all was when they were loading Larry onto a stretcher. According to a few, Lunchbox was completely motionless except for an almost too quick to catch swipe of his hand to snag his World Title.
Others claim a staffer, muttering about how much the belt meant to Larry, scurried to pick it up and rest it on the Champ’s motionless body.
Conspiracy theorists claim there was a second belt.
Regardless, the fact is…
That was the last time Lunchbox Larry was seen by the public.
CUE DRAMATIC, MURDER MYSTERY RIFF
We find ourselves just outside North Las Vegas Airport. There are people of all sizes, colors, and levels of weird holding up signs with names on them. They’re all standing about patiently waiting, with one exception.
Bustling between the greeters and cabbies, two men wearing black jumpers with orange trim. One’s holding up a camera. The other’s grasping a mic. You can hear camera guy, let’s just call him Call, shout excitedly to the microphone holder, who we’ll call Mike, as a wave of passengers can be seen exiting the airport through the nearest doors.
Cam: Over there! That’s gotta be the one!
Mike takes a moment to locate Cam’s target, but once he does...
Mike: Definitely! This guy really must be as dumb as they said, huh?!
Cam doesn’t reply, just nods enthusiastically while waving to his counterpart to hurry up behind him. He clearly doesn’t want to miss the opportunity with his cohort lagging behind.
Seems like we’re all waiting on a Mike these days.
The eager pair come to a halt when they finally reach a short, bald man in an old suit that looks a couple sizes too big. He’s holding up a sign like all the others waiting for passengers around him. Instead of the name he’s looking for, though… this man’s sign reads:
NOT LARRY, NO LUNCH ALLOWED
Cam and Mike, just before it’s too late, take a couple steps back to watch from a short distance. After a few moments, out of the now dissipating crowd of passengers, emerges one standing head and shoulders above the rest.
He looks oddly familiar.
Probably just shy of six and a half feet tall.
Maybe a shade under three hundred pounds of muscle around a rather sturdy frame.
Are you expecting an orange hoodie?
Well, the hoodie is not orange.
The hoodie is pink.
The text on it is some sort of psychedelic rainbow action, reading…
Sitting atop a robust facial features is an obviously fake moustache and glasses combination.
The pink hood on the hoodie is covering what we can probably assume is a head full of straight, shiny black hair.
Before the big man can even make it to greet the short guy holding the NO LARRY sign, our favorite audio video staffers jump out in between the two.
Mike: That thing on? You better ha-
Cam: It’s on! Of course it’s o- oh… wait a sec.
Lar- I mean… the huge guy in the pink hoodie stops dead in his tracks. He turns into a statue, then excruciatingly slowly steps backward, as if she shared Drax’s school of thought regarding motion and being detected.
Mike leaps in front of the big pink guy. Cam zooms in on the two.
Mike: Helllllloooo, Fans Wrestling Federation… fans…!
Stalker levels of awkward right there.
Mike: Err, I’m here today, just outside the North Las Vegas airport… pleased to relieve you all with the…
Mike turns back to a still slowly creeping backward monster of a man behind him. He takes a couple steps to make up for the distance.
Mike: … beautiful… sight of… YOUR… WORLD! CHAMPIOOOOON!!!
The slow step stops.
You can see the alleged FWF World Champ’s jaw drops as his eyes almost bulge out of the lense-less, fake glasses.
Mike: I sure know I share all your relief to see our beloved belt holder up and kicking! I present to you, for the first time since Make America Wrestle Again…
Mike throws and open right hand up toward the big, pink hoodie wearer. The big man flinches.
Mike: Lunchbox Larry, everyone!!!
The big guy’s shoulders slump.
He lifts a hand and removes the fake nose and glasses from his face.
He lifts his other to take the hood off his head.
His hair is straight and shiny… and black.
His blue eyes, defeated, look down to Mike.
Lunchbox: H-how’d you guys know?
Mike looks at Larry, trying to figure out if the question was serious. He looks at the poor, short dude still holding the stupid sign. He looks at Cam. Then turns back to Larry.
Mike: Uh… the sign was kinda the first clue.
Larry holds up a pointer finger in protest.
Lunchbox: But it says NOT Larry!
Mike slowly nods.
Mike: Yes, yes it does… well, then obviously when we saw you… the Lunchbox Sucks on a different color hoodie.
Mike: Classic, man. Good stuff.
Larry stares down at Mike, not necessarily angrily… but also not smiling.
Clearly pulling a Leslie.
That is to say, Larry clearly wasn’t getting it.
Larry shakes his head and mutters to himself. Thankfully, the microphone was close enough to pick it up.
Lunchbox: HE said this would work. HE said not even Stalker would be able to follow me. HE…
Mike’s interest is piqued.
Mike: Still here, Larry. And, if you don’t mind me asking… who’s this, HE, you speak of?
Larry snaps out of his introspective focus, shaking his head.
Lunchbox: N-no one. Just…
You can see the gears turning as hard as possible.
Lunchbox: My old pal, Harry… ya know? The guy from-
Cam: Butte, Montana! I loved that guy!
Larry shoots a coy smile toward Cam. The comment from his counterpart reminded Mike that they were still filming.
Mike: So, Lunchbox! World Champ! Care to talk about where you’ve been since you got carted off by the ambulance? Any words on your upcoming title defense and rematch against Stalker? Feelings on the change to a permanent venue here in Las Vegas? The fans have been absolutely dying to hear from you!
As Mike was rattling off the entire impromptu interview agenda all at once, Larry’s eyes darted back and forth to keep up.
Lunchbox: I, uh… I gotta go, actually. I gotta go train, and stuff… for you know…
Larry’s clearly struggling to come up with his opponent’s name, which was literally just said by Mike.
Sadly, like the no-show incoming, he repeated it.
Lunchbox: Yes, that guy. Real big. Bigger than me. Stalks people. For good, I guess. Seemed like a nice enough big guy when I saved him from the guy with three first names.
Mike: Daniel Logan Leslie?
Another nod. Larry’s face is emotionless. His blue eyes seem empty.
Lunchbox: Yep, bad big guy. Larry saved good big guy. Then beat that guy on way to win belt.
Yes, you’re reading correctly. He’s speaking like a robot caveman.
Lunchbox: Now Larry fight good big guy ‘gain. Larry been good. Larry looking forward to new place. Larry see all the same people… all… peep…
And we’re down, folks. Larry hits the ground with a loud, almost 300 pound thud.
Mike snaps his head toward Cam with popped out eyes. He shrugs, then quickly swipes his hand across his throat in Cam’s direction.
The feed cuts.