Earning Those Stripes

Genre: Humor/Parody
Rating: T-13
Summary: Fed up with being a loser, Ryan Masters is prepared to train, study, lie, cheat, kiss-up and more, all to fulfill his lifelong dream… to become a WWE referee! T-13 for humor and language.


Disclaimer: I own nothing related, pertaining to or within World Wrestling Entertainment, Funking Conservatory, Impact Pro Wrestling, and whatever other promotion, company or institution mentioned in this piece of fiction. However, PZBWTSPTR, Ryan Masters and his ballistic roommate are creations of my disturbed mind, and usage of them will require much groveling and heavy loan fees. Although I doubt anybody would want to…

It was when I was hanging clothes in our garage when the idea to make an original character a loser striving to be a WWE referee popped into my head. I don't know exactly where it came from, but a striped towel may have triggered something within my brain. Anyway, after some quick research on the subject and now fancying myself more knowledgeable on the matter than I was five hours ago, I started this.

I know most OCs may be less than well-received, but give Ryan a chance. Throughout the course of this fic I will happily humiliate, degrade, and put him in the most fucked-up situations that I can think of, all for your reading pleasure. And heck, I'm going to have fun doing it too. Enjoy.

Date Uploaded: 11 November 2005

Chapter 01: I Wanna Be Zebra, Man

'Life is too short to be taken seriously.' – Observer Magazine

»»»

"So what are the rules in a Duchess of Queensbury match?"

"Uh… wait, I think I remember this. There was some bullshit deal about timed rounds, right?"

"And…?"

"Er, no disqualifications…"

"And…?"

"Christ, I don't know. Wasn't that it?"

"No. A Duchess of Queensbury Rules Match is composed of two timed rounds, and there are no disqualifications and submissions. You missed the number of rounds, and submissions."

"Does it matter? I mean, that was a dumb match that was concocted by Regal back in Backlash 2001 where he just basically made up the rules as it went along, trying to screw Chris Jericho. It's not like there's going to be another one like it – one was bad enough."

"See, Ryan, this is what I've been saying; if you're going to remember useless pieces of information like that you might as well remember all of it. If not, then what's the use?"

Ryan Masters gave his roommate Dean a dry look. He knew it was bad idea to ask this guy to help quiz him on the different types of pro-wrestling matches. Despite the fact that Dean juggled a part-time job working at a telemarketing gig and studying through his course involving something wholly intimidating-sounding like quantum physics, he never seemed to take anything seriously. And he definitely wasn't trying to at that moment either.

"Jesus, Ryan, lighten up," Dean said, swiveling in the office chair he was in and throwing the papers he had been quizzing Ryan on to the desk. "It's refereeing, not brain surgery or rocket science."

"I know, and that's why it's going to be doubly embarrassing if I screw it up," Ryan snapped, grabbing the papers himself. "Now if you're not going to help me then get lost for a couple of hours. Go entertain yourself in your own room or something."

"Don't mind if I do, have to get some studying of my own done too," Dean said, standing up. "Don't burn yourself out," he snickered, toting a heavy textbook labeled 'Quantum Physics of Atoms, Solids, Nuclei and Particles' as he left.

Ryan groaned and flopped onto his bed. At twenty-three he was the product of your average, middle-class family, two semesters of neglected college, a gas station attendant who had miserably drawn the night shift, and was a closet fan of J-Pop. Oh, and he loved pro-wrestling. He wasn't an extraordinary guy, and for years he had had one and only one dream. To be there, under the bright lights, standing in the ring, hearing the people cheer.

He wanted to be a World Wrestling Entertainment referee.

Yep, a zebra, counter of pinfalls and wearer of the unmistakable stripes. When Dean had first heard that he laughed. "What? Are you sure you don't dream of being an actual wrestler yourself?"

Quite frankly Ryan never did see himself as a buffed-up, egotistic tough guy who supported tiny black spandex briefs in the ring, getting dropped on his head night after night by guys much bigger than him. As his last girlfriend had so tactfully said, he wasn't charming enough, durable enough and hadn't a cute enough butt for it. Since then he had been conscious of his rather flat posterior. And said ex had cheated on him with the junkie who hung around the gas station he worked at, resulting in a rather embarrassing break up.

But that's far from the point. The point was Ryan wanted to be a referee, not matter what kinds of ribbing he got from Dean and the rest of the people Dean happily shared Ryan's rather unusual goal to.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you didn't get such a kick out of it," Ryan had once said after Dean had blurted it to a homeless guy on the street and the two of them had laughed heartily about it for the next ten minutes.

"And what kind of friend would I be if I made life any easier for you?" Dean said back in his familiar wit. "There is a way to make me eat my words, you know."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"Actually become a WWE referee, fuckwit."

Curiously enough, that was the closest Dean had ever come to being helpful or supportive towards Ryan's career goal. Not exactly knowing where to start, Ryan turned to that marvelous, all-knowing entity that people so often relied on. He went to Google. And in the search bar he carefully typed, 'how to become a wwe referee'.

He learned a few things. One, is that he was a couple of years too late for the offer Careerbuilder-com once had, and that some other guy named Billy J from Impact Pro Wrestling had his exact same dream, the loser. Oh, wait. Anyway, whoever this guys was, he was considerably a few rungs up the ladder than Ryan was, and that in itself was pretty pathetic.

Deciding to get started himself, Ryan then went about looking for places where referee training was offered. Unfortunately, places like the Funking Conservatory and Moondog Manson's Pro-Wrestling School had taken one look at him and firmly stated that their places were full and that Ryan should try again next year or something. Discouraged after going through twelve different places with the same result all throughout, Ryan decided to go for one more. And if that didn't pan out, he would aim for that junior assistant manager something or another at the gas station.

"You're in luck, kid," the heavily smoking, heavyset woman with heavy mascara and a suspiciously heavy (read: baritone) voice said to him from behind the desk. "We just had a cancellation. Some other guy decided to forgo his spot and take up accounting at the state university like his parents always wanted."

"So I'm in?" Ryan asked, trying to grasp the fact.

"Pay the deposit of two hundred dollars upfront and you start tomorrow, cutie."

As a matter of fact Ryan had the money, and he happily forked it over. He also triumphantly announced his vital first step to Dean that evening. "Right," Dean said skeptically, "And the name of this place is…?"

"Wait," Ryan glanced at the receipt he had been given and turned red. "Uh, it's PZBWTSPTR - the Poobrain Zebra Bastard Wrestling Training School Place Thingy for Rejects."

Dean burst out laughing. "Oh that's a good one. Seriously, though, what's the name of the place?"

"That is the name of the place."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. And please don't make me repeat it, it's hard enough to say it with a straight face the first time around."

And that was what basically brought him to now. His first week wasn't so bad, even with one of his teacher being the heavyset 'woman' who stated that 'her' name was Lady Honeysuckle Sky and insisted on being called 'Miss Honey'. Sure it was scary the first two days, but by the third day he found that he had grown used to it.

Ryan stared up at the ceiling and listlessly fanned himself with his notes. In the room next to his, Dean apparently had decided to neglect his own studying and was now using his guitar to massacre the Bad Religion song playing on the stereo. Ryan sighed and then smacked himself rapidly a few times on the head with the papers. "Come on, gotta get this into my head…" he mumbled, rolling onto his stomach and going through it again.

"Right, so a Texas Bullrope match has two wrestlers on either end of a rope. If either of them frees themselves before the match is over, it's a disqualification. One way to win is through pinfall, the other is to touch all the turnbuckles…" Ryan let go with a yawn and within moments lowered his head and fell into a peaceful slumber on top of notes, leaving a trail of drool on the stipulations of the King of the Mountain match.

It was while he slept and dreamed of refereeing a Lingerie Pillow Fight Butt-Spanking match between Gail Kim and Angel Williams that two things happened. One was that in the next room Dean attempted to perform a difficult move with his guitar involving the windmill and jumping on the bed at the same time, lost his footing and crashed into his stereo, momentarily wiping himself out. And at the gas station Ryan's boss waited impatiently for him to show up for his shift, mumbling something about firing the bastard.

» cont'd

Not so Useless Tidbit: There is actually a Moondog Manson's Pro-Wrestling School that offers training for wannabe wrestlers, managers, valets and referees. I believe it's based in Canada.

Useless Tidbit: I got the Poobrain Zebra Bastard when I entered the name 'Ryan Masters' in the Insulting Name Generator at the Rumandmonkey-com site. I took it as a good sign that 'Zebra' was in there and used it.

Another Useless Tidbit: Billy J, the referee from Impact Pro Wrestling, does exist. I created Ryan as a joke. I never knew there was actually someone whose biggest dream ever was to referee for WWE. I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity.