Post by Mark Zout on Jun 17, 2023 0:47:37 GMT
Mark Zout
The scene opens centered on a television screen displaying a courtroom featuring a red and white flag with a maple leaf on it. We see a clean-shaven Mark Zout wearing the clothes he had been wearing prior to all these events - that is to say, shirtless and neon green sweat pants with velcro high tops that are a yellow and pink in shades just as obnoxious as his bottoms.
We hear a stern middle-aged woman dressed in a black robe with a white complexion wrinkled by age and stress.
Magistrate.
"Mr. Zout, over the past decade I have become intimately familiar with your charade of reform and the antics and escapades you have involved yourself with while under the custodialship of the Toronto Department of Corrections. You were originally detained August 19th, 2010 for several counts of disturbing the peace including; grand theft auto, operating a motor vehicle in a pedestrian walkway without proper license or registration, three counts of attempted manslaughter via vehicular assault, public intoxication and indecency, verbal assault, breaking noise ordinances, inciting a riot, vandalism and destruction of public property, and evading arrest by law officers. Impressively, all within the span of a quarter hour. To my own amazement, your legal council managed to convince the attending magistrate to sentence you to only two years of incarceration with eligibility for early parole on the terms of good behavior. However, Mr. Zout, as we congregate here over a decade later, you are still incarcerated. I see on your record here multiple accounts of assault on fellow inmates sometimes with makeshift weapons, inciting multiple riots, fraternizing with several female guards; interestingly enough all in a single count, eight successful escape attempts and two failed ones. I see that you returned the same day after each escape of your own accord with Tim Hortons and White Spot. You are, Mr. Zout, for lack of a better term, an enigmatic individual that has been proven to be impossible to reform. This country has no death penalty and you have been a burden on the tax payers for the better of a decade. Therefore, I am releasing you from your incarceration with the caveat of also revoking your Canadian Citizenship, which you applied for and were granted in June of 2008. If ever you are to return to Candian soil, you will be detained, deported, and trespassed. Furthermore, with the cooperation of the American government, your passport will be revoked. This case is dismissed with prejudice. Best wishes to you in your future endeavors."
A gavel slams and the screen of the television goes black. The camera pans out to display a talk show set. We see Oprah Winfrey sitting opposite Mark Zout. The crowd is a mix of disapproving groans and jeers. Oprah uses a motion of her hands to quiet them and looks to Mark.
A gavel slams and the screen of the television goes black. The camera pans out to display a talk show set. We see Oprah Winfrey sitting opposite Mark Zout. The crowd is a mix of disapproving groans and jeers. Oprah uses a motion of her hands to quiet them and looks to Mark.
Oprah.
"Mark. First off, it's been a long time since we've had you on this show. Last time you were here we were discussing how you had obtained a dual citizenship as an American Canadian, which impressed the whole audience. Now, and its obviously been several years, you sit before us as an American citizen and only as an American citizen. Furthermore, it's been a number of years since anyone has seen you inside of a - squared circle, they call it? What can you tell us about the events that led up to your incarceration and the troubles you seemed to have in the Canadian Corrections System?"
The room was silent. You could cut the tension of those eagerly awaiting the former star's reply with a knife. Real tangible feels type stuff happening. Mark is dressed in shined wing tips, pleated slacks, a white button down with a blazer to match the slacks, and sporting a new beard. He reaches up with his left hand, rubbing the dark whiskers that protrude from his jaw as he visably chews over his words before breaking the silence.
The room was silent. You could cut the tension of those eagerly awaiting the former star's reply with a knife. Real tangible feels type stuff happening. Mark is dressed in shined wing tips, pleated slacks, a white button down with a blazer to match the slacks, and sporting a new beard. He reaches up with his left hand, rubbing the dark whiskers that protrude from his jaw as he visably chews over his words before breaking the silence.
Zout.
"Oprah, first and foremost, it is a pleasure, as always, to share a set with you. You still look as stunning as the last time you hosted me, might I add."
Mz. Winfrey bats her lashes toward camera, playing the compliment off coyly as the crowd expresses their agreeance in the form of whoops, hollers, and whistles.
Mz. Winfrey bats her lashes toward camera, playing the compliment off coyly as the crowd expresses their agreeance in the form of whoops, hollers, and whistles.
Zout.
"What happened in Toronto that day was just a huge misunderstanding. That's what I tried telling the officers, and that's what my lawyer told the Magistrate - erm, that's what they call the Judges up there."
Oprah.
"A misunderstanding? Mark, I have to say you've always been cordial and sincere with me, but I can't tell you I'm having an easy time understanding how the laundry list of offenses she mentioned could be as simple as a misunderstanding."
Zout.
"Let me just start at the beginning. I was in Toronto, where I resided when away from Seattle. I was at a little bar up there having a drink with a local job- er- local talent up there, when I saw the Hardcore Champion from a rival territory. Now, I wasn't going to do much about it, but this friend I had been sipping spirits with dared me - he dared me, and you know I can't in good morale squelch on a dare - to defeat the guy for his title under the twenty-four hour clause. The twenty-four hour clause, for anyone unaware, states that the holder of the Hardcore Championship must defend the title at any place and at any time to any qualified challenger. Well the guy I had been at the bar with happened to be a part-time referee and he promised to sanction the match. I begrudgingly agree to go forward with the dare; keep in mind, hardcore matches aren't usually my thing, so he stands up and announces to the whole bar that Mark Zout - me - was going to challenge for the Hardcore Title right then and there. Long story short, there were a couple other guys working for similar promotions in the bar, and they wanted in on the action. So we had this every man for himself, first to score a fall gets the title sort of match. They call it a Fatal Four Way. That may be where the attempted manslaughter stuff came in. It wasn't personal, it was just a job, y'know?"
The audience lets out murmers of revelation and better understanding.
The audience lets out murmers of revelation and better understanding.
Oprah.
"I mean, I guess that does explain the manslaughter bit, but what's this about stealing a car and driving it down the sidewalk?"
The audience's curious murmers turn to disgruntled chatter. Mark clears his throat, silencing them as they await his explanation expectantly.
The audience's curious murmers turn to disgruntled chatter. Mark clears his throat, silencing them as they await his explanation expectantly.
Zout.
"Well there is no disqualilifications or count outs in a Hardcore match. Theoretically, if the champion could have evaded us and escaped we would still be in a sanctioned match, but if we couldn't find him we couldn't defeat him. So he bashes me over the head with a full bottle of beer and I go out for a minute. But I guess before he could pin me and defend his title the other two guys closed in on him, so he took off running and they gave chase out of the bar and down the street. When I came to, some of the bar patrons pointed me in the direction they had gone, but when I stepped out of the bar I hadn't seen them. I ... uh... commandeered a gas motor scooter and gave chase down the street. I saw the three of them brawling behind a fountain and so I rode the scooter onto the sidewalk and used the fountain as a ramp. The thing started flipping while I was still on it and I collided into all three of them. We were all out cold for a minute."
The audience expresses loudly their awe at the situation Zout has described and even Oprah looks slightly taken aback at the violence being described on her show. He continues.
The audience expresses loudly their awe at the situation Zout has described and even Oprah looks slightly taken aback at the violence being described on her show. He continues.
Zout.
"So I'm coming to, and we're downtown, y'know, where there's a bunch of entertainers. One of them has a microphone and speaker and he's singing Daughtry or something, y'know? Anyway, I don't see the champ. So I grab the microphone from this guy and I start calling him out. I say some pretty outlandish things, trying to get under his skin and, believe it or not, it works. He comes up from behind me and rolls me up in a school boy - that's like a sneaky pin, and my pants slip down - so there's your indecent exposure. So I kick out and we brawl a bit but I manage to get over on him and connect with one of my Signature Moves - the Space Needle, it's called. Basically, I lift the guy up vertically and drop him on his dome."
The audience is appalled as is Oprah as she cuts him off with fervor.
The audience is appalled as is Oprah as she cuts him off with fervor.
Oprah.
"So you lifted this man up above your head and purposefully dropped him directly on his? And this is on a concrete walkway?! I've got to say, Mark, that sounds a lot like you were trying to at least cause permanent damage to the guy."
Quickly, before the audience can get too unruly at the news, Mark cuts back in.
Quickly, before the audience can get too unruly at the news, Mark cuts back in.
Zout.
"Well yeah. I mean, no. Now don't try that at home, but he was gonna be fine. It's like a superpower you get when you become a professional wrestler. You can regularly endure what would kill a mortal man. It's happened to me like four dozen times and I'm fine, y'know? Anyway, the cops show up and they don't know that this is like a real sanctioned match and stuff and so they're like screaming at me about attempted murder and get down on the ground and trying to cuff me, but I can't have that or I'll lose, y'know? So I scream, like, 'EFF THE POLICE. I AM THE LAW!' Which, y'know, they don't take too kindly to, understandably. I was a little drunk, in my defense. But the people around us eat it up. They start going crazy and flip over patrol cars and impose themselves between us four and the Police. In all the chaos I managed to pin a guy, but then the others immediately challenged me to a rematch so I used the hardcore title to knock them both out and I just took off. When I got home, though, the police were waiting for me, and let me tell you, they were not very amused."
The audience is electric, divided on their opinions of Zout's retelling of the events that had transpired that day. Oprah, not usually one at a loss for words, is struggling to pick up her jaw from where it lay on the floor. That last bit is meteohorical.
The audience is electric, divided on their opinions of Zout's retelling of the events that had transpired that day. Oprah, not usually one at a loss for words, is struggling to pick up her jaw from where it lay on the floor. That last bit is meteohorical.
Oprah.
"So you're saying through all this, a riot happens, you're finally arrested, but you are a title holder for a territory you're not even in or employed by. How is all this possible and what happens next?"
Zout.
"Well it turns out that you can't hold a title for a company you're not employed by, so they stripped me of the belt and refused to recognize my win. The courts had me go to jail and I was supposed to get out early on good behavior and get back in the ring. But the rumors that I was the reigning Hardcore Champion spread through the prison like wildfire. Everyone wanted a piece of me and I had to do everything in my power just to defend myself. Every other day was a fight for my very life. There was one occasion I was stabbed in the showers with a make-shift knife thirteen times. I had to get thirty-some-odd stitches for that. Another time I was hit in the back of the head with a metal lunch tray and stomped down. It was a rough time."
The audience and Mz. Winfrey alike take on a disposition of solomness now, in light of Zout's most recent revelation. Oprah changes the subject to a more light-hearted matter.
The audience and Mz. Winfrey alike take on a disposition of solomness now, in light of Zout's most recent revelation. Oprah changes the subject to a more light-hearted matter.
Oprah.
"That certainly does sound like a very difficult time, but you were part of less violent antics as well, correct? Tell us about some of these escapes you performed that lasted less than twenty four hours. And you turned yourself back in?"
Mark nods in appreciation and chuckles softly.
Mark nods in appreciation and chuckles softly.
Zout.
"Oh, yeah. Well the Magistrate - er, Judge, didn't include that each of those times it was my birthday. I just wanted something special, y'know. And Timmy's is the best coffee you can get within jogging distance of that prison. And if you haven't had French fries smothered in gravy from White Spot, Oprah, you haven't yet lived. Let me tell you that, at least."
The audience is impressed and amused. Their disapproval and concerns have melted away to laughter and chuckles of their own.
The audience is impressed and amused. Their disapproval and concerns have melted away to laughter and chuckles of their own.
Oprah.
"Okay, Mark. Okay, but now we're to the real steamy question. I -"
She motions to the audience in attendance.
She motions to the audience in attendance.
Oprah.
" - WE, all of us, have to know what the story behind the fraternization charge is. Was that your birthday, as well?"
Zout hesitates before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and mulling his jaw to the side, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He smirks, his brow contorting with his devious grin before he answers.
Zout hesitates before clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and mulling his jaw to the side, tonguing the inside of his cheek. He smirks, his brow contorting with his devious grin before he answers.
Zout.
"Well actually, Oprah, the female guards were triplets, and it was their birthday."
The audience explodes in shock and scandal. Even Mz. Winfrey mouths an 'Oh my.'
The audience explodes in shock and scandal. Even Mz. Winfrey mouths an 'Oh my.'
Oprah.
"I'm sure they were very pleased with their gift that year."
Zout.
"I always try not to disappoint my fans. Speaking of which, I know the giveaway segment is usually your thing, and I'd hate to think I've stepped on any toes, but, with your blessing, I'd like your audience to reach under their seats."
Oprah.
"Oh Mark, you are a sly one! I don't even think the producers knew you'd hidden anything there today!"
One by one and then several at a time, the audience members retrieve manilla envelopes from below their seats and gush in excitement as they see what is within. As the camera pans to the screaming audience they all wear or wave above their heads brand new Mark Zout merchandise personally signed by the man himself.
The screen clicks off and now a camera pans back from what was, this entire time, another television.
We are confronted with the apartment setting from Fraiser. On the couch sits Mark, his best friend Ryan, and Ryan's younger cousin, Litimus. On the floor, at their feet, is a bear skin carpet that wears the red, white, and blue trunks from the Rocky series. No, not a movie quality replica of the Rocky trunks. The Rocky trunks. Anyone who has followed Zout and Ross' escapades would recognize the bear skin carpet as their former pet, whom they had kidnapped from the Point Defiance Zoo, domesticated with the help of Lit's pot brownies, and trained as a professional wrestler himself. It has been long enough. He's dead now, just like the running joke he had been a part of.
One by one and then several at a time, the audience members retrieve manilla envelopes from below their seats and gush in excitement as they see what is within. As the camera pans to the screaming audience they all wear or wave above their heads brand new Mark Zout merchandise personally signed by the man himself.
The screen clicks off and now a camera pans back from what was, this entire time, another television.
We are confronted with the apartment setting from Fraiser. On the couch sits Mark, his best friend Ryan, and Ryan's younger cousin, Litimus. On the floor, at their feet, is a bear skin carpet that wears the red, white, and blue trunks from the Rocky series. No, not a movie quality replica of the Rocky trunks. The Rocky trunks. Anyone who has followed Zout and Ross' escapades would recognize the bear skin carpet as their former pet, whom they had kidnapped from the Point Defiance Zoo, domesticated with the help of Lit's pot brownies, and trained as a professional wrestler himself. It has been long enough. He's dead now, just like the running joke he had been a part of.
Zout.
"So you guys blew all the money you made from the PWA on replicating the Fraiser apartment? I must say, it is impressive."
A proud smirk beams on Ryan's face.
A proud smirk beams on Ryan's face.
Ross.
"The really hard part was getting the skyline of Seattle to be in that window, when anyone who's actually ever lived in Seattle knows that a clear view of the Space Needle from where this building sits and the floor on which we reside is a mathematical impossibility. Good thing we suck at math."
Suddenly, Ryan's face contorts into a look of confusion.
Suddenly, Ryan's face contorts into a look of confusion.
Ross.
"Wait, that's your takeaway from all this? You're not wondering how ten years later my idiot f-cking cousin and I are still roommates, or what happend to... whatever the bear's name was?"
Zout.
"Some things never change, man. And that bear was old. In bear years he was probably like... really old. I just thought he died of old age or something. What I'm super curious about is why you and this idiot never tried a heist to help me escape Canadian prison."
Ross.
"We didn't even know you were in Canadian prison. I'd have thought you'd have used that one phone call to let us know to come bust you out. Not that it would have mattered. Lit isn't allowed into Canada anymore, anyways."
Zout.
"I called Miss Cleo. I had to know where to meet you after I got out of the clink. Wait, why isn't Lit allowed in Canada anymore?"
Lit performs a long slow laugh in the styling of Tommy Chong. This is not ironic.
Lit performs a long slow laugh in the styling of Tommy Chong. This is not ironic.
Lit.
"A heart attack after jumping off the top rope, bruh. Just like Mickey Rorke in The Wrestler."
Zout.
"You had a heart attack and they banned you from the whole country? Holy sh-t. Public Healthcare really does suck balls."
Ross.
"He's talking about the bear. I told you he's a f-cking idiot, dude. Lit, you're like four lines of dialog behind. Jesus. Anyway, no Lit never had a heart attack. I couldn't get so lucky. F-cktard here, it turns out, while he sucks at everything else he does, grows a mean weed plant. He sold a couple pounds up in B.C. while we were there for a tour and apparently it was so good the local dispensaries were losing a lot of business. They told him to quit selling his sh-t up there or to stay out of the country."
Lit.
"I'm not gonna NOT sell weed, dude. That's like not not... not smoking weed. It kills my vibe. Must be the ganja, right, M?"
Zout.
"We'll talk about the totally unnecessary use of triple negatives later. And quit making meta references. That's our thing. D-mn. So the bear got Mickey Rorked. That's a shame."
Lit.
"Yeah. I tried to tell him not to touch that cocaine. Bears just can't handle it, man."
Zout.
"You guys had cocaine?"
Ross.
"Randy had cocaine."
Mark throws his hands in the air and stands angrily from the couch.
Mark throws his hands in the air and stands angrily from the couch.
Zout.
"What the f-ck were you doing hanging out with my piece of sh-t dirt bag uncle? Did you guys forget about Tijuana? Or Calgary? Or LA? Or Tokyo? Or wherever the f-ck else that piece of sh-t goes?"
Ryan stands after him, cool and collected.
Ryan stands after him, cool and collected.
Ross.
"You disappeared, Mark. I'm getting older now, man. I was working with Randy when you were a sperm in your daddy's ball sack. I can't keep up with some of these guys anymore. Not without a tag out or so many rest holds the whole thing is a snooze fest. I'm not trying to hear a Beat The Traffic chant. AND he said he'd be clean. He swore he'd turned over a new leaf."
Ryan speaks evenly in an attempt to keep Mark calm. He is unsuccessful. Mark's response is an explosion of his emotions.
Ryan speaks evenly in an attempt to keep Mark calm. He is unsuccessful. Mark's response is an explosion of his emotions.
Zout.
"Yeah he turned over a new leaf. A f-cking cocao leaf. Probably thought it would deter the brown out. Christ, Ryan! Why couldn't you just tag with that idiot?"
Lit pets the dead bear's remains with his rainbow colored toe socks, otherwise unmoving and totally unaware of the conversation taking place around and about him. Ryan's expression, as he nods in Litimus' direction, is dead pan. Exasperated, but understanding, Mark calms considerably.
Lit pets the dead bear's remains with his rainbow colored toe socks, otherwise unmoving and totally unaware of the conversation taking place around and about him. Ryan's expression, as he nods in Litimus' direction, is dead pan. Exasperated, but understanding, Mark calms considerably.
Zout.
"Alright, yeah. I get it. So there was a professional wrestling bear that died of a cocaine overdose... We gotta get the rights to a movie or something, man. A movie about a bear on cocaine? The idea prints money. Think of the merchandising revenue."
Ryan shoots him an awkward glance and Lit lets loose an equally awkward whistle. Mark realizes quickly he is out of the loop.
Ryan shoots him an awkward glance and Lit lets loose an equally awkward whistle. Mark realizes quickly he is out of the loop.
Lit.
"There's already a movie about a bear that overdosed on cocaine. It was called Cocaine Bear and while totally not as epic as this lil mo'f-cker's story would have been, it was arguably one of the greatest films of that quarter."
Mark looks to Ryan. With a reluctance that contorts his face, Ryan confirms.
Mark looks to Ryan. With a reluctance that contorts his face, Ryan confirms.
Ross.
"He's not wrong. It was pretty good."
Pacing the open space in the middle of the floor, Mark puts two fingers to his temple in thought as he verbally sifts through what options occur to him.
Pacing the open space in the middle of the floor, Mark puts two fingers to his temple in thought as he verbally sifts through what options occur to him.
Zout.
"So you guys spent all the money you had on making the apartment a perfect replica of the Fraiser set. All my money is loonys and twonies and sh-t, so all that's worthless..."
Lit.
"Why don't you just go to the bank and exchange all your Canadian bills for American ones?"
Mark and Ryan each shoot him glares that would have dropped him dead if looks could kill.
Mark and Ryan each shoot him glares that would have dropped him dead if looks could kill.
Zout.
"Shut the f-ck up, Lit. That's not a thing!"
Mark looks to Ryan.
Mark looks to Ryan.
Zout.
"That's not a thing, right?"
Ryan shrugs unknowingly.
Ryan shrugs unknowingly.
Zout.
"We'll worry about that later.... Right now let's focus on getting work."
Ross.
"Lit makes enough money selling his weed to pay our rent and buy all our food. And I'm old now. I am old now, right? Like, that's the narrative we're going with? I only ask because none of our ages really add up on the timeline thats been crafted here. If I'm old now I'm not really looking to start working again. So what about you, Mark? What kind of a job are you going to go after?"
Mark doesn't even ponder the question. He speaks with a resolve that is absolute.
Mark doesn't even ponder the question. He speaks with a resolve that is absolute.
Zout.
"I've only ever been one thing."
Lit.
"A convicted international fellon?"
Ross.
"God d-mn it, Lit!"
Zout.
"Alright, so I've only ever been two things. But wrestling pays a hell of a lot better than making license plates."
Lit looks up from the blank space on the wall he had been staring at for the first time in the entirety of the scene.
Lit looks up from the blank space on the wall he had been staring at for the first time in the entirety of the scene.
Lit.
"So they like really make you do that in jail?"
Bitterly, Mark replies.
Bitterly, Mark replies.
Zout.
"Everyone hates you."
The screen is treated with a black and white static effect before cutting to black.
Suddenly, Zout walks out from behind the projection screen the image had been playing on, holding a power point remote.
The screen is treated with a black and white static effect before cutting to black.
Suddenly, Zout walks out from behind the projection screen the image had been playing on, holding a power point remote.
Zout.
"So I made a few calls. As it turns out, the IIW was recruiting talent and they happened to realize that I am exactly what they were looking for. I signed on the dotted line, and I'll be coming to a TV or iPad, or whatever you all use now to watch the greatest sport in the history of the world very, very soon."
Mark presses a button on the power point remote and a pre-recorded video of himself plays on the projection screen behind him.
Mark presses a button on the power point remote and a pre-recorded video of himself plays on the projection screen behind him.
Zout.
"And that's how you make a promo inside a promo inside a promo while watching a promo inside the promo. It's Promoception. Suck it, Nolan! Mark, out."
The video ends, the live Mark shrugs, and the promo, finally, truly ends.
____________________________________________________________
Every cool kid...
MARK ZOUT!
The video ends, the live Mark shrugs, and the promo, finally, truly ends.
____________________________________________________________
Every cool kid...
MARK ZOUT!