I HATE THAT NAME
We go from commercial to the backstage locker room, where PRIME’s Event Horizon sits on a bench, ring gear on, with a black t-shirt in hand. He looks down at the graphic and shakes his head. In big, bubbly letters, the shirt reads “Team Dump Trucks,” with a graphic of two cartoonish dump trucks side by side, one with a caricature Hanlon’s face drawn in to the grill, the other with Jared Sykes’s, both looking back at bulbous booties built in to the tailgates.
Jared Sykes: I told you I hated that name.
Hayes barely lifts an eye to his partner on the other side of the room. Jared sits with elbows on his knees and a towel over his head, the same shirt long tossed to the far end of the bench. Hayes snorts in reply.
Hayes Hanlon: Yeah. “The Glute Factory” was right in front of us, wasn’t it.
The Dragonslayer offers nothing clever. Nothing snarky. In fact, the room is painfully quiet. Not sure why? Check out their promo.
After an extended silence, Hanlon tosses the shirt, and looks up to the Heart of PRIME.
Hayes Hanlon: Look, man. We don’t have to…
Jared Sykes: Let’s just get this over with, and get on with our lives.
With a quick push off the knees, Jared stands and heads for the door, throwing it open and escaping into the hall, presumably toward Argyle. Hayes remains, letting his head fall back against a locker and breathing deep through his nose.
Hayes Hanlon: Sorry, buddy.
Home Run Hayes takes one last breath, stands, and heads through the door, sure to keep his distance.