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| 6'3" 251 lbs. | A natural tweener. | Scotch Plains, NJ | |||||||||||||
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| Appearance: Chris is sort of tall, but not huge, with a bit of a beer gut. He has longish dark brown hair that partly covers his forehead, and a brown goatee. He usually wears a Chicago Bears shirt, or a denim shirt with a really ugly tie, and Dockers with a brown belt. He tends to wear dock shoes, with no socks, as is often done in New Jersey. Often has an Atlanta Braves beer stein in one hand and a box of Chewy granola bars in the other. Drives a beat-up, maroon Chrysler LeBaron convertible with a torn black top and stained beige seats, filled with Chewy bars and covered in Chicago Bears and Atlanta braves stickers. | |||||||||||||||
| Background: Grew up in New Jersey and Florida, in a family of cops. Recently worked as a math teacher at a private grammar school in Easton, PA, after winning a bet on a football game from the principal, until complaints about his ineptitude and suspicions about his being a little too close to a female student (Must we delve into his sordid past??) led administrators to force him to resign. Unemployed, he returned to his boyhood home and decided to fulfill his dream of being a professional wrestler, while still teaching math at a local school. | Attitude/Gimmick: Self-impressed and overconfident, he thinks he can beat any opponent easily and rarely practices or works out. But sometimes he's REALLY lucky in the ring | ||||||||||||||
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| Author
comments: The appearance of Bob, the motel operator, marks the first
of many times I used everyone's favorite stereotypical Canadians, the Mackenzie
Brothers, in bit parts.
(Fade from black...we see a red brick school building with long rows of narrow windows. We zoom in on one window, and see what is going on inside. Chris, in a denim shirt and Godawful (TM) tie, sits across a wooden desk from a stern man with gray hair and round glasses, the principal, Mr. Fillmore) Fillmore: Look, Chris, I'm sorry. I know you won that bet and I had to give you this job, but you are an embarrassment to the Easton Academy! Chris: But Mr. Fillmore, the accusations-- Fillmore: Chris, I know. I don't care if the accusations WERE made by a student that you failed. They're bad enough, but you're not even doing your job right! Chris (indignant): How can you say that? Fillmore: You're supposed to be a math teacher, but on your time sheet, you claimed working until 1:25 until 2:30 as 2 hours overtime! Chris: But... Fillmore (getting angry): LOOK, INSALANANO, I'M SICK OF YOUR EXCUSES! I WANT YOUR RESIGNATION ON MY DESK BY 9 AM TOMORROW! THAT MEANS WHEN THE BIG... Chris: Yeah, yeah. I know. When the big hand's on the 9 and the little one's on the 12! Fillmore: YOU GOT IT BACKWARDS, MORON! GET OUT NOW! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AROUND HERE AGAIN! (Chris stands, and hangs his head as he walks out, toward the playground. He sits on a bench, crying and watching the kids, including the one from that "incident." As he sobs, he remembers his favorite Rolling Stones song) Chris (singing, sobbing, and humming the violin solos): It is the evening of the day
My riches can't buy ev'rything
It is the evening of the day
(Finishing his song, but still sobbing, Chris stumbles as he walks to his trashed, maroon LeBaron convertible, with a torn black top...the car the kids dubbed "the Mr. I Moblie." The door creaks open and he gets in, shoving 52 Chewy granola bars off the seat.) Chris: Well, Car, it's just
you and me. Where should we go?
(He makes his way onto US 22, and crosses the Delaware River into New Jersey. We follow him from above, like from a traffic helicopter. Around Phillipsburg, he pulls onto I-78. He soon comes to a truck stop.) Chris: I'll be right back,
Car. I just wanna call my old girlfriend LuAnn and tell her I'm coming
back to Scotch Plains.
LuAnn: Look, Chris! The restraining order clearly said you couldn't call me anymore! Chris: But I said I was sorry I keyed "LuAnn, I love you, love, Chris" into your car! LuAnn: Yeah, but I never met you until the court hearing! You were stalking me, remember?! Chris: Why'dya hafta make it sound so bad! Dang it LuAnn! Can't you see I'm hurtin' inside! LuAnn: And what did the doctor say...make sure you drink plenty of water with that medication and you won't get heartburn. (crying, Chris slams the phone, and makes his way back to his car. He fires it up again and gets back on the interstate. As he continues to ponder his situation, he draws closer to his old hometown. He begins eating a few Chewy bars as he drives) Chris: Mmmm. Peanut butter
and chocolate! That’s great! Oooooh! S’mores! Ahhhh. That’s the stuff!
Hmmm. This one’s a little hard. And it looks like it’s dated 5/87. Must
mean 2087!
Chris: Ugh! shouldn’ta eaten
that last one. maybe one more will reverse the effect!
Trooper: Hey buddy! I hope you’re gonna clean that up! Chris: Oh. I see. You don’t want to do it yourself, so you’re gonna make poor ol’ Chris Insalanano do it! I’m sick of… Trooper: Hey! Take it easy, buddy! Chris: Take it easy? Why should I take it easy? Trooper: I just wanna remind you it’s a crime to assault a police officer…or anyone! Chris: Fine!
Chris: Now I won’t get there before it’s really late. I better just stop at a motel. (At the next exit, he goes up the ramp to a dimly lit street with darkened stores. Only buzzing neon signs light the way.) Chris (looking at a sign): Hmmm. The Wet Carpet Motel. Sounds good to me. (He pulls in, locks the car, and goes inside. He meets a short, balding man with glasses and a plaid shirt. The man holds a can of Elsinore Beer and has a name tag that says “Bob.”) Bob: Hey there, eh, what can I do for ya, eh? Chris: I need a room. Bob: Okay, here’s de key, eh. Room 149, eh. She’s a beauty, eh. Chris: Thanks. (Chris goes outside, then up the metal steps to the second floor. He finds a big, mean looking guy with a dragon tattooed on his face outside, and avoids eye contact as he opens the door. He finds that the coin-operated massage bed is running. He steps inside.) Chris: Whoa, they weren’t kidding! This is the wettest carpet I’ve ever seen! (He turns on the TV) Chris: Color TV! Now that’s luxury! (The hours pass, and the massage bed continues to shake the entire room) Chris: I’m so tired. And the bed will not stop! I would call Bob and ask him to fix it, but the phone is locked up because I didn’t pay for it! And I don’t wanna go outside ‘cause that mean looking guy will kill me. (Chris sits in a cheap vinyl-covered chair and dozes off. In the morning, he steps out to find the mean guy still there.) Mean Guy: Looks like you had a tough time. You know you coulda unplugged that bed! Chris: Oh. Really? Too bad
I didn’t ask you sooner. I coulda slept! Who are you,
Mean Guy: I’m the concierge for this floor. Now where’s my tip. (Chris pretends to look for his wallet and runs. He jumps into the car and leaves without paying. Bob comes out after him) Bob: Hey, where’s de money, eh? You can’t leave without paying, eh! (Chris disappears around the corner) Bob (angry): Take off, hoser! (Chris is again driving, and we follow him from above for about 15 more miles. He bears right at Exit 41, and goes down the long hill toward the town. He passes a sign that says, "Welcome to Scotch Plains Towne Centre") Chris: OK, Car, here we are! The wonderful, peaceful, and best of all non-judgmental Township of Scotch Plains! (As he says the non-judgmental part, people point and stare at his rusted, scratched car.) (He pulls into the parking lot of McDonald’s and drives up to the drive-thru menu) Voice: Welcome to McDonald’s
can I help you?
(Not wanting to get banned from McDonald’s, Chris nails the gas and peels out, just tapping the Ford Expedition in front of him…cut to inside the Ford) Passenger: What was that?
(We see that there is no damage to the Ford, but that there is a sizable dent in Chris’s car.) Chris (shrugs): Eh, no one will notice that. Blends right in! (Chris heads back onto Park Avenue, the main street, then makes a right onto Second Street) Chris: Almost there, Car, just a few blocks now! (He turns left at Read's Auto Parts, and pulls into the driveway of a decrepit house, with tall weeds surrounding it. He finds that his key still fits the lock, and he goes in and flops down on the couch. The TV is already on, and there is a Chicago Bear game on the screen) Chris: Ah, home at last. Just the way I left it! Now, to find a job... (He goes outside again to find the latest Weekly Suburban News on the driveway, and begins searching) Chris: oooooohhhhh. Here's one! "Math Teacher, grades 7 and 8! No ability needed, just willingness work for very low salary and ignore students' disrespect for you!" Sounds pretty easy. How mean could those kids be? (As he says this he suddenly remembers two kids in his last class who made fun of him constantly and once convinced him to eat a poison ivy plant. He shudders, then shrugs.) Chris: But I better look for a second job. Sounds like it pays bad! (As he looks some more, his eyes light up as he spots an ad for pro wrestlers) Chris: Hmm....LCW, now a member of NWC, eh? Wrestlers wanted, eh? Sounds good to me! I used to wrestle in high school! (Flashback to Chris and a few big mean kids struggling on the cafeteria floor, over a hamburger Chris had dropped. The other kids are pounding him.) Chris: Yeah, I was good! Now,
I need a nickname if I'm gonna wrestle. Lemme think.
(As Chris gets up to call about the jobs, cut to two kids back at the school from the first scene. They are sitting on the bench where Chris was crying before, laughing) Kid #1: Heh heh heh! Remember when you got him to eat poison ivy by saying it was the most succulent of the ivies? What a moron! Kid #2: Yeah. I always hated
that Dr. Stupid!
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