As you all know, I was once transported to the Jurassic time period due to a freak transdimensional accident, so I decided to see how it paired up with the actual park of movie fame. I did some Googling and found a Jurassic Park knock-off called “J-Wrassle Park.”
Assuming it was a typo, I trudged on. However it was nothing like I could have expected. When I showed up to the park, it dawned on me: this was not a dinosaur theme park but a theme park dedicated to Wrestling Jerry Jameson and his 16 brothers.
I showed up to the supposed departure point to go to this Wrestlemania-themed island where I supposedly would be challenged to fisticuffs by 17 former circus strong-men led by their nefarious ringleader/brother Jerry. Yet when I arrived at the destination marked on the Craigslist ad, all that stood was one large wooden shack in a dusty field where a large dirt circle had been drawn into the ground. One would expect an array of dinosaur cutouts or at least some attempt to connect itself to the horribly plagiarized theme park title, but no. The only things vaguely reminiscent of the park were that 12 of the 17 brothers were dressed as Jurassic Park characters—specifically just the two kids from Jurassic Park.
Jerry greeted me from inside the arena dressed as John Hammond from Jurassic Park. “Welcome to J-Wrassle Park,” Jerry called to me, “Come meet my 16 brothers, whom you will fight soon enough.” Each brother then marched single file out of the wooden shack and stood behind Jerry beyond the dirt arena. “This is Jeremy, Jeremiah, Jedidiah, Jebidiah, Jacob, Jacoby, Jan, Janos, Jack, Jak, Jax, Jane, Janice, Juan, Jeremy pronounced ‘Yeremy’ and Maurice. Maurice is the first-born and you will not be fighting him,” Jerry said. Maurice winced at the sound of his name, and ran into the hovel with tears streaming down his face.
“The rules are simple,” said Jerry, “You must fight each brother one-by-one for a minute until you defeat one of us, however every minute that passes another brother will join in.”
He went on to explain that nobody had ever beaten any brother before, and most visitors died. “I don’t want to scare you,” Jerry said, “but my family has collectively killed 55 men, except for that weak snail Maurice, he’s never killed anyone.” I asked if this was at all legal, to which Jerry said, “Technically due to a geographical logistics error in 1878 that was never cleared up, this is considered international waters.” Before I could argue the merits of maritime law, Jerry handed me two boxing gloves with paper clip removers attached to the ends, and said, gesturing to each glove, “This is Hall and this is Oates. They will be your only defense today.”
At first, I was upset that I paid $250 to embark on this journey, but I decided to get my money’s worth. I asked to have a tour of the place before initiating the fight, to which Jerry said, “Look around you stupid b***, this is everything we have to offer.” All the brothers cheered and slapped their pectorals loudly in agreement with Jerry then he quietly added, “Or is it?”
I obviously asked if it was, and Jerry then pulled me close and said, “No, I lied. I couldn’t have my brothers know about the real secret of the island.” Ignoring the fact that we simply were not on an island or anywhere near one, but actually somewhere outside of Tulsa, Jerry grabbed me by the arm and took me into the shed.
Inside Maurice was nailing copious amounts of Jell-O to the wall while crying softly to himself. He turned to me and said amidst tears, “Brother, have you brought him to see the real secret of the island?” Jerry promptly slapped Maurice so hard that Maurice flew into the pile of Jell-O collected on the ground. “Do not ever address me, eldest brother, because you cannot fight--because you are weak,” Jerry said to Maurice. Maurice rose to his feet and silently resumed his task. Jerry then opened a secret panel on the wall, behind which was a stairwell to a hidden basement.
This secret basement seemed to actually be the real secret of the island. It was a entirely metal laboratory filled with beakers and chemical experiments; it looked like something out of...Jurassic Park. Baby dinosaurs floated in jars, and paleontological blueprints lined the wall. So I asked him what all this was, since it seemed to be a real-life version of Jurassic Park. Jerry then said, “Oh, these are all props,” and then the 16 brothers emerged from the walls, as they had painted themselves chrome silver to blend in and had been waiting there for me the whole time. “You still have to wrestle all 16 of my brothers.”
There I was stuck between a rock and 16 angry men looking for a sweaty battle of brawn. I was terrified of the prospect of fighting each brother; namely Jan, who was wearing the same outfit as the girl from Jurassic Park but over chainmail and wielding a large black mace, and especially Jedidiah, as he was just a large rabid dog wearing a luchador mask. However, it dawned on me that Jerry said I would be fighting all 16 of his brothers, yet Maurice was nowhere to be seen.
“I want to fight Maurice first!” I declared to the room full of brothers. A loud gasp filled the room followed by a long silence. “Nobody has ever wanted to fight Maurice,” said Jeremy-pronounced-“Yeremy.”
“What do we do Jerry?” Juan cried out. Jerry pondered for a second, and said, “The laws of pugilism dictate that this man shall have the challenger of his request, for our grandfather Janek Jandorsi wrote it in the bylaws.” At the utterance of this word, every brother began bowing and repeating the word “bylaws.”
Maurice emerged from upstairs with his burgundy turtleneck sleeves stained with the snot from his weeping face and with Black Cherry Jell-O. “You can finally fight,” said Jerry with a stern voice, “Begin!” Maurice looked at me with the intensity of a rooster with newly shined spurs at the start of a cockfight, and charged at me. I dodged the charge, and punched him in the gut, and he immediately collapsed. The other brothers dragged his flaccid body away silently. “Well,” said Jerry, “I guess you beat ‘J-Wrassle Park.’”
I got in my car, and drove away from the park content with my actions. I couldn’t help but feel bad for Maurice, being the most pathetic out of the 17 brothers, but the feelings faded quickly. I just hope that the next souls who stumble upon this Garden-of-Eden-of-Being-Beaten-Up-by-17-Men-at-Once are as resourceful as I was.
All the brothers seemed like formidable foes, so always remember to read the fine print.
Nick Younger is a Trinity senior. His column, “Medical Professionals Hate Him!” runs on alternate Fridays.
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