[Scene] The scene opens in Josh Sutton’s Secondary 2003 black Chevy Avalanche. Three and a half people sit inside it: Victor Blood, Fearinhell, Mini Sutton, and of course Josh Sutton. The scene changes to a view inside the vehicle. It’s seemingly very quiet until an “outlandish” question escapes the mouth of Sutton.
Sutton: What the hell are we driving for, Vic? We could have flown to California from Chicago in like.. six hours. Instead, we’ve been on the fucking road driving for about twelve hours straight. My ass is killing me.
Fearinhell: Yeah, I bet it’s taken a pounding over the years.
[Scene] Sutton looks back in anger, taking his eyes off the road.
Sutton: What the hell did I tell you about those puns, asshole?
Fearinhell: Sutton….
Sutton: And another thing….
Fearinhell: Sutton!
Sutton: What?
[Scene] Sutton turns his head and lets out a loud shriek. He’s veered off into the other lane and a semi was moving toward them at an amazing speed. Sutton swerves the big SUV back over into his appropriate lane, nearly taking out three cars with the Chevy gas hog. Sutton reaches up and wipes sweat off his scabbing flesh.
Sutton: Well, that was exciting.
[Scene] The camera shows three scowling faces, obviously repressing anger as Sutton comforts himself.
Sutton: Where was I?
Fearinhell: Bitching about something, I presume?
Sutton: Oh yeah, thanks. Why the hell are we driving all the way to Anaheim, Vic?
Blood: It was your idea.
Sutton: My idea? I don’t ever recall stating I’d enjoy driving from Chicago to Anaheim.
Blood: You’re right, you never claimed you wanted to drive from Chicago to Anaheim, but you did say you’d like to retrace your old roots. This is the life of a pro wrestler before he hits it big. Or have you forgotten and squandered that away since you left the bush leagues.
Sutton: Argh… But….
Blood: It’s too late to do anything about it now. Besides, this gives you the appropriate time to plan out your match with Hardcore Hulin. Go to the drawing board in that banged up head of yours and come up with some interesting shit.
Sutton: I’ve already done that. I mean, we’ve done everything! Twelve hours, Vic. TWELVE hours. There’s still countless more hours to go, as well.
[Scene]It goes quiet for several moments then Mini Sutton breaks it.
Mini Sutton: Me knows what we can do!
Sutton: (sighing) What’s that, retard?
Mini Sutton: Let’s sing!!!
Sutton: NO!
Fearinhell: NO!
Blood: NO!
Mini Sutton: “The wheels on the SUV go awound and awound, awound and awould, awound and awound. The wheels on…”
[Scene] The scene changes to an outside view with the Avalanche pulling over. Seconds later you hear a loud crack. When the camera re-emerges in the vehicle Mini Sutton is holding his quickly swelling eye.
Fearinhell: Repressed anger, Sutton?
Sutton: You want some too?
Fearinhell: I’ll pass. Besides, I’m a lover not a fighter.
Sutton: The ultimate cowards line, eh? How path…
[Scene] There’s a low popping sound then Sutton notices the car beginning to jerk a little to the right. A popping sound and the jerking begin to add up. The diagnosis? A flat tire.
Sutton: FUCK! I can’t fucking believe it! This has to be punishment from God. I’ve been trapped in a car with two and a half total assholes for twelve hours, and now this shit.
Fearinhell: Hey Sutton, guess what?
Sutton: What, you fucking imbecile?
Fearinhell: The wheel on the SUV goes flap, flap, flap. The wheel on the SUV goes flap, flap, flap all the way to Anaheeeeeeeim!
[Scene] Sutton pulls over to the side of the highway and reaches into the back seat. He pulls out a tire iron and hands it to Fearinhell.
Sutton: Great lyrics, jackass. Now get the hell out there and put the spare on it before I shove that tire iron up your ass and turn it.
Fearinhell: Just for the record, I hope this Hulin guy kicks the shit out of you this Wednesday.
[Scene] As Sutton starts to fire back with a witty comment, Fear shuts the door on it and goes to work on the tire. About twenty minutes elapse and he opens the door back up and gets in. Sutton starts up the car and they begin on their way. The driving commences for several more hours in boring silence.
Sutton: We’re almost there... California, look alive because Josh Sutton is coming back, baby!
Fearinhell: Man, I’m starving. Sutton, let’s stop and eat before we go to the hotel.
Sutton: Why can’t we just order room service?
Fearinhell: Because, room service usually tastes like a dog’s ass.
Sutton: Ugh… Fine. Where do you guys want to dine?
Fearinhell: Well, there’s an Arby’s up ahead. Let’s eat there.
Sutton: I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dan.
Fearinhell: Why not? They have perfectly good, fattening food there.
Sutton: Oh, it’s not the food. There was this one time in Texas… I was on the road working for an independent promotion and wrestling a Texas Yokel by the name of Adrian Trine. Well, I went to Arby’s and well, needless to say I ended up getting permanently banned from all of their establishments. They sent faxes to all the chains, so I’m sure they’d recognize me.
Blood: What in the bloody hell could you have possibly done to have gotten banned from that fine establishment?
Sutton: Hmm… Well, the line was back to the door. Some big happening that night, I guess. In the process of waiting I beat up a sixteen year old kid with an elderly lady’s walker, shoved the old lady to the back of the line, made fun of a Chinese man, told an obese lady that when they say to eat Jenny Craig, they don’t mean it literally, and proceeded to curse out the manager when she tried to charge me twenty-five cents for a glass of water, which is the only reason I even went into the damn place.
Fearinhell: Jesus Christ, those poor people… Well, how about McDonalds?
Sutton: I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Dan.
Fearinhell: You got banned from McDonalds too?
Sutton: Of course not. Their food tastes like shit.
Fearinhell: On second thought, let’s just order room service.
Sutton: You read my mind.
[Scene] Sutton and company pull into a Holiday Inn in the middle of Anaheim. They get out and unload their bags as we begin to fade out…