PALE BLUE BASTARDS
Only two things come from Texas…
…nevermind. We’re not doing that.
(One of them is definitely not NFL Playoff victories.)
Anyway, the scene opens up following the broad back of one dark-haired gentleman. Duffel bag over shoulder. Black dress shirt. The camera pans around.
You already know.
No smile behind that remarkable mustache. There hasn’t been one since ReVival 22. But there’s no lack of fire in the Event Horizon’s eyes. There’s still work to do.
No match tonight, but so many questions from the PRIME faithful! What antics will Ivan Stanislav and Alexei Ruslan get into here at the Toyota Center? Will Hayes and Sykes FINALLY kiss?
And what of our Universal Champion?
Rumors swirled during the week that the Escape Artist would no-show ReVival 24. Will he make such a brash decision? Will he deny the PRIMEates their taunts and jeers? WHO KNOWS WHERE HE COULD POSSIBLY…
…
Oh, there he is.
Rezin: Hayes…
Rezin appears suddenly and unexpectedly from the VOID, a soiled sack slung over his shoulder, a muscle-cut D.R.I. shirt over his torso. The outline of what is clearly a championship belt–THE championship–can clearly be seen poking through the burlap fabric.
…that’s Dirty Rotten Imbeciles, the crossover thrash band. From Houston? You know, the city where–you know what? Nevermind…
Hayes Hanlon: …what do you want, Rezin?
The Event Horizon narrows his eyes, and slowly slides his duffel bag off his shoulder to the ground, squaring up and ready for anything that his rival may bring. That is, until…
Rezin: …here.
The Goat Bastard has with him a box wrapped in newspapers, which he hands over to Home Run Hanlon.
Hayes, naturally, cocks and eyebrow, and takes the box cautiously.
Hayes Hanlon: This isn’t gonna explode and cover me in black ooze or something, is it?
Rezin: (scratching at his head uncomfortably) It’s uhh… it’s my DVD set of Cosmos. The original one.
Hayes turns the box over in his hands, obviously confused.
Hayes Hanlon: Um…thanks. I guess?
Rezin: LOOK, MAN! I’ll admit, I ain’t great at this “showin’ one’s appreciation” shit! Just take the stupid DVDs, and let’s call it even, COOL?! I mean, truth be told, I think ya shoulda just left me to DROP a coupla weeks ago…
The Universal Champ shifts uncomfortably, roughing up his own hair to deflect. Hayes remains poised, and confused.
Rezin: Still… if ya hadn’t broken my fall, I prolly wouldn’t even have the chance to be here tonight and fire up that ring! It’s that reason AND THAT REASON ONLY why I ain’t kickin’ your… admittedly unabashedly handsome face in!
A snort from Hanlon, and a chuckle.
Hayes Hanlon: Don’t get it twisted, Erik. I had my own reasons to break your fall.
Hanlon inches forward, and pushes the newspaper-wrapped box into Rezin’s chest.
Hayes Hanlon: And that’s because I want you 100% when I kick your face in.
The Escape Artist growls through his wiry beard, while the Event Horizon nods in return.
Hayes Hanlon: (tumbling the box in his hand.) But uh, thanks for the gift. I’ll…see if they still sell DVD players on Amazon or something…
Rezin: You’re in for a TREAT! There ain’t ANYBODY who can talk ya through the majesty of a BLACK HOLE like the soft, lilting voice of Carl Sagan!
Hayes Hanlon: …Carl Sagan?
First, Rezin’s eye twitches. Then his whole face contorts. Soon, his entire body is tremoring with bubbling rage that takes every fiber of his being to try and suppress.
“Carl Sagan?!” Did he seriously just say that?! One might as well ask, “Who is Werner Herzog!?”
Rezin: …rrrrrrrrrRRRRRRR–JUST STAY OUTTA MY FACE TONIGHT… HHHAAAYYYYEEESSS HHHAAANNNNLLOOOOONNN!!
The Escape Artist re-slings the sack to the other shoulder and wanders off. Hayes cranes his neck, then calls out after him.
Hayes Hanlon: Hey, is that Ivan?
Rezin stops dead in his tracks, his wide, bloodshot eyes somehow growing wider and twitching erratically.
Rezin: aaaaAAWWW SSHEEEEIIIITTTT!!!
Dropping the sack, the Escape Artist does what the Escape Artist does, pivoting around wildly before b-lining for a nearby dumpster, leaping in head first, various emptied cups and plastic containers shooting into the air.
Home Run Hayes grins to himself before getting back on track toward the Toyota Center, and takes one last look at the newspaper-wrapped box in his hand.
Hayes Hanlon: …seriously, who the hell is Carl Sagan?