RAIDERS OF THE LOST BELT
“Nah, no match tonight. I’ll probably hit The Strip after, though. I heard a rumor that GREAT BEAR would be spinning records at Omnia tonight…”
Opening up backstage, the rookie sensation Hayes Hanlon strolls down a hallway, cell phone to his ear and Five Star Title hanging over his shoulder.
Hayes Hanlon: …honestly I don’t know if it’s a dude in a bear suit or not, it’s really hard to tell. Those Beats by Dre headphones are pretty sweet, though.
He pushes open a door on his left, leading us into his locker room. He pushes the belt off his shoulder, laying it over the top of a steel chair before walking into an attached bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Panning over to the locker room’s entrance, a set of black-tipped fingers wrap around the door jamb, followed by a crazed pair of eyes peeking inside.
Rezin: (Whispering) Ahh, perfect… the ever-reliable post-interview bowel movement!
The Goat Bastard, Rezin, carefully tip-toes his blackened boots inside, listening carefully to the muffled sounds of Hayes from the bathroom
Rezin: Easy now…
His foot clipping the edge of a waste bin causes him to flail around cartoonishly, hopping from toe to toe back and forth, arms whipping overhead like a wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man at a used car dealership.
Rezin: Oh, BOG SAGET–!!
He slaps a crusted hand across his mouth to shush himself, bloodshot eyes wide open, listening to see if the jig was, indeed, up.
The muffled words from Hayes in the bathroom continue unimpeded.
The jig is, not quite, up.
Pupils darting left and right, Rezin continues sneaking into the room, growling under his breath.
Rezin: Where is that damb belt…
In what takes entirely too much time, the Goat Bastard finally spots the shining belt, draped over the chair in painfully obvious fashion.
Rezin: Therrrrrrr you are…
He reaches behind him, retrieving a white t-shirt from his waistband. He crouches down, eyes shooting from the bathroom door and back to the belt, blackened fingers carefully bringing the shirt closer to the belt, like Indiana Jones swapping the sandbag in place of the golden idol.
Rezin: Caaaarefuullll….
In a swift motion, Rezin snags the belt, replacing it with the shirt, the anarchy “R” symbol facing out proudly. He twinkle-toes his way back out the door, clutching the belt to his chest before clumsily shutting the door behind him.
Shortly after, Hayes emerges from the bathroom, phone still to his ear.
Hayes Hanlon: …tell me about it, Barry and Trent make me feel things…wait, WHAT THE HELL??
Hayes nearly drops his phone upon seeing his belt missing. He frantically whirls around the locker room, searching for his coveted strap.
Hayes Hanlon: Gotta go, I’ll call you back!
He shoves his phone in his back pocket, distraught as he pushes both hands through his dark hair.
Hayes Hanlon: You have to be freaking KIDDING me! Who the hell would have DONE this…oh, yeah. That makes sense.
He spots the anarchy “R” shirt lying over the chair’s backrest, and the black bootprints leading into and out of the room make it hilariously clear who the culprit is.
Hayes Hanlon: Son of a…
The Five Star Stud rushes out of the door, slamming it behind him.