Like every good story, this one started out with a childish prank. Or, as those in the business refer to it: a rib. Professional wrestling organizations had at least one or two clowns within their ranks who perpetuated gags for the sake of keeping things lively, and the backstage environment of Sin City shows were no different. Although the vast majority of the talent considered themselves too grown-up to partake in such shenanigans, the behind-the-scenes guys did fine in picking up the slack that the “important talent” left.
Thad Denver, along with a select few others who’d bothered to form amicable relationships among the cameramen, assembly crew, and production staff, was not one of those “important talents.”
While he didn’t consider himself clever enough to really nail anyone with a good gag, he had become a popular target within the ranks of the fold. Thanks to his shrewd ability to detect when someone was trying to put one over on him, he was sought after like a prized deer in the realm of shitty Ashton Kutcher-style booyas. Thad was wary of the pranksters and could usually stamp out their efforts at the slightest hint of irregularity: he was as aware as a cat being coaxed into a bathroom for a scrub-down.
But, there was this one time…as there’s ALWAYS “this one time.”
After a memorable night in the Oracle Arena featuring the wrestling debut of one Ethan Peters, Thad headed to the locker room to treat himself to a nice hot shower. Yes, there was nothing like lathering up your sweaty ass with apple-scented suds and feeling the water pressure tickle your crack with an invigorating blast. Obviously, some venues had better facilities than others, but that particular night in Oakland provided Thad a fantastic experience. It wasn’t necessarily that the shower stalls were the cleanest or most pleasant, but something about that night had compelled him to take an extra ten minutes “washing himself off.” Truth was, he’d been running late all day long, and hadn’t had the chance to impregnate a drain in twenty-four hours, so it was obviously imperative that he took care of the day’s task.
Ten extra minutes was more than enough time for Steve Darlesi, a production assistant and current travel partner of Thad’s, to enter the locker room and snatch all his clothes. Whoops! The barrel-chested dimwit from New Jersey chuckled to himself as he heard the sound of running water coupled with an enthusiastic vocal rendition of Britney’s “Baby One More Time” (sans verses). Grabbing the red duffel bag with one hand and stuffing his wrestling gear under his other arm, Steve darted for the door, leaving no trace of evidence save the scent of his Brut lingering in the breezeway between the shower entrance and locker area.
Needless to say, the then-teen was perplexed for…eh…about five seconds when his underwear, boat shoes, jeans, and “Cowgirl Butts Drive Me Nuts” T-shirt were nowhere to be found. At the six second mark, a grin crept over his face as he realized that he’d been the victim of a rib – not a very good one, but an attempt nonetheless. If whoever had done this would have really been on their game, they would have taken the towel, too.
“Dumbasses,” Thad mused, rubbing the terry-cloth over his hair one last time before wrapping the towel around his waist and tying it loosely at his hip. As the sound of moist bare feet trodded against the grimy cement flooring toward the door, he began to speculate who was behind the heist. Jared Sykes was an obvious candidate, as he was a frequent flier when it came to this sort of shit -- but his pranks were usually limited to 'I dare you to eat this' style gags that rarely had effect. There was also Heather, who was once featured on-camera in an old segment featuring Charley Crisp trying to teach Sykes how to pick up women. While she appeared as sweet as a caramel-dipped fried chicken leg, the current Assistant Talent Relations Head was notorious for barbs of epic proportions. Just two months ago, she'd pulled off one of the funniest ribs of the year by rigging a bucket to dump approximately ten cans of baked beans on Kendall Heath's head. It was payback for embarrassing her at a staff meeting by loudly accusing her of a pungent fart that he himself had released.
Nah, couldn't be her, Thad thought. Stealing his clothes would be a pass at flirting, and he'd already tried to hook up with her unsuccessfully. (She'd declined, confiding in him that she had a major crush on someone he knew quite well, and that he'd 'hit on every girl backstage, so why should she feel special?' Thad had sworn up and down that this was a false claim, but to no avail.)
Whoever it was probably wouldn't be too hard to find, though. Thankfully, the joy of walking down the halls in nothing but a towel suited his fancy. Thad pushed the door open, and his first thought was that he hoped there was an impressive bulge in case one of the sorta-okay lookin' backstage ladies happened to pass by. As he glanced down at the sky blue cloth covering his elephant trunk, however, teh second thought of the trip suddenly occurred to him.
'Shit!'
He barely felt the tug from behind on the towel, but it was enough to greet the cast and crew in front of him with a premature sunrise. The sound of Steve Darlesi's awful little cackling below him solved the mystery of the vanishing dignity. Son of a bitch. Looking back later at the situation, Thad wished he'd been quick enough to jump back and envelop Steve's face with his ass cheeks. However, it is always one's intuition when suddenly exposed to cover your privates with your hands -- fast thinking is no match for natural instinct.
As Steve stood to his feet with the towel in his hand, Thad hopped around 180 degrees to face him. His hands were still cupped over his dick and balls, and the surrounding audience was treated to another point of view.
'Where are my clothes?' Thad yelped, pleading with his road companion/pot supplier.
Steve only responded with laughter, then held the towel out for Thad to grab. As the nude Spacely reached forward, exposing his periscope's eye once again, Steve quickly pulled it back. With a swift flip of the towel's end, he then popped Thad directly in his thigh.
'OWWWWCH, YOU FUCKER!' Thad grabbed at his leg, which gave Steve just enough time to turn on his heels and run as fast as his stubby legs could carry him. The butt-naked, blond-pubed (at the time) Gateway champion immediately gave chase -- zooming past several colleagues and desperate to prevent any further humiliation.
As Thad darted past the catering table, identical gazes from interviewers Ethan Peters and Mary Jackson met the streaking wrestler and followed his skinny white ass all the way to a door that Steve Darlesi had run through just moments before. Once Thad had successfully forced his way in, Ethan glanced up at Mary and smiled, sticking his hand out and rubbing his thumb against his pointer and middle fingers. With merely a nod, Mary reached down into her Gucci handbag resting next to her on the table and fished a twenty dollar bill from the pouch.
'Told you,' Ethan stated matter-of-factly, accepting the Jackson from Jackson (wordplay jokes ROFL) and shoving it into the pocket of his gray slacks.
'Well,' she responded, snapping the purse shut and holding it to her hip, 'still looks dyed to me.'
Meanwhile, Thad had successfully negotiated the return of his belongings by threatening to deliver a hurricanrana to one Mr. Darlesi. Normally, this had the intimidation factor of being shot with a Nerf gun, but when a nimble little naked man is dead fucking serious about getting his clothes back, you take certain things into account. Like a dong being mushed into your face.
'Here you go, sweetheart,' Steve sneered, tossing the duffel bag in his direction while holding out his other arm in defense.
Thad grabbed it in the air and clutched it to his crotch area. He turned, shaking his head and chuckling slightly as he moved to a far corner of the dressing room to throw some pants on.
'I'll get you back, bro.'
“And then, there he was, just naked and standin’ there all, ‘Who took my clothes?’ tryin’ to cover his junk with his hands!”
The story, told with a Forrest Gump-like enthusiasm, received a mixed reception at the dinner table full of Darlesis – a couple of laughs, a pair of rolling eyes, and a few directed glances in the direction of their holiday guest seated in the middle next to Steve, whose face was pink with embarrassment.
“Oh, shut your ass, Steven. Look what you did! Makin’ our guest feel uncomfortable,” quipped the hen of the Paterson, NJ household. Connie Manchietti, a heavily-tanned and oddly alluring woman in her late forties, scolded her eldest son from the seat next to the head of the table. “Sorry, honey,” she said, her thick fire truck lips complimenting a dim hazel gaze in Thad’s direction. “I’m sure you’re used to his shit by now, huh?”
Thad nodded and laughed, the color slowly evaporating from his dimpled cheeks. The former Mrs. Darlesi was the antithesis of his own mother: which is probably why he loved her immediately upon meeting her. She was brash and unforgiving in her speech, yet seemed extremely laid-back in spite of her obvious taste for ball-busting. She had called her boyfriend (who currently sat next to her, a bespectacled man who could’ve passed as Steve Irwin’s twin brother) a “fucking lunk” about five times since they’d sat down to dinner.
For as much of a butt-hole as he could be sometimes, Steve was a fairly kind individual. Once Thad had mentioned that he had no intention of heading home for Christmas, Steve insisted he spend the holiday weekend in lovely northern Jersey with him and his family. Although hesitant at first, as soon as the kid stepped foot inside the very welcoming household of Mama Connie’s, he was glad that he’d decided to come.
The personalities that made up the parameter of the table were all very diverse – all of whom coming together by strong family ties and the love of picking on one another. Connie, divorced from Steve’s dad shortly after the twins were born, ruled the roost with the drive and perseverance of Rosie the Riveter. A very pretty yet powerful woman, she even walked with a swagger that seemed to mirror a certain colleague of his by the name of Pierce. Thad was confident that she wouldn’t hurt a fly, however, unless it happened to hesitate moving as her hand came around to smack her boyfriend or one of her sons in the back of the head.
Her boyfriend (William? Or was it Bill?) was seemingly there as background fodder, as he remained fairly stoic throughout the tenure of the long weekend. He had seemed friendly enough to Thad, but didn't necessarily go out of his way to make his presence felt. The same could be said for the older gentleman in the gray cardigan at the head of the table. 'Pops' was the given nickname for Mr. Manchietti, a frail and helpless old codger whose spirit seemed to match his fashion sense. It was hard to tell what was going through his mind as they feasted on the sausage pasta primavera, as the only forms of communication exerted was the occasional belch.
Steve's brother and sister, Mike and Sammi, were stereotypical fraternal twins in their vast differences of mannerisms and appearance. Mike resembled Steve, with his weighty jawline and light brown hair and had taken on the features of their father when it came to their big-boned build. Sammi had been fortunate enough to be blessed with her mother's graceful looks and cute rounded facial structure, not to mention her glowing skin and curvy physique. Just at the cusp of 18 years old, it would be the last Christmas that they'd be living at home (at least Mama Connie had hoped.) While Mike was talkative yet reserved and calculated in his efforts when addressing his family, his sister was a mesh of Steve and her mother's personality. Often abrasive yet tinges of sweetness lined her language, and the eye contact that she delivered made Thad feel welcome.
'Oh, it's fine. He can have that one,' Thad responded. 'They victimize him enough where we work, so I'll let him brag on the one time he put one over on someone else.'
'Nobody ever got me!' Steve objected loudly, wiping a trace of sauce off the corner of his lip.
'Um, should I remind you about the water they dumped on you while you were on the toilet?'
Steve nodded in defeat, shoving the pasta in his mouth and talking whilst full of food. 'Once. Just once.'
Thad smiled. 'Well, there was another time, too. But you didn't know about it.'
'What happened?' Mike piped up, reaching out for his glass of water.
'Well,' Thad continued, 'this guy Ted, who was a grip-slash-ref in training, took a magic marker and wrote 'STINKY' on a piece of paper with an arrow pointing down. Yer brother walked around for like an hour and a half with that thing on his back until we finally felt sorry for him and grabbed it off.'
The entire table (sans 'Pops' and Steve himself) erupted in giggles, with Mama Connie almost spitting her Merlot back into the glass. Steve shook his head in defiance as the clanging of his fork vibrated onto the china.
Thad didn't care for wine. It was a drink for snobs, he'd been raised to believe. This was before the emergence of the movie Sideways, and before anyone really gave a shit about the fermentation of grapes.
However, he wasn't one to turn down hospitality.
With a long flight followed by an hour's worth of meeting and greeting, a three-course meal that filled his belly, and two more hours worth of socializing coupled with about seven (eight? Maybe five?) glasses of Beringer, it was only natural that Thad would want to take a shower before settling in for the night. Thanks to the alcoholic haze that provided a steady rabble-rousing in his brain, Thad had brought everything he'd needed to wash up: shampoo, conditioner, Dove body wash, and a pink luffe...
Unfortunately, he'd neglected to bring his pajamas with him to the bathroom. With a green towel tied loosely around his waist, any memory of what had occurred months ago at the hands of the man whose childhood home he was currently in had failed to cross his mind. The only thing he could really think about was his head colliding with the feather pillows resting pristine on the guest bed down the hall.
He may as well have covered his ass with a bright red target.
'Shit!'
Thad's reaction time had left something to be desired, and by the time he had turned around to confront Steve for his second go at the childish prank, the guest bedroom door just fifteen feet had closed quickly behind him. Undaunted, and with wiener flapping freely and with no regards to the possibility of anyone else being upstairs, he flung the door wide open and turned to give Steve a proper view of what lay wedged between the Fifth Moon of Zarflon.
'Hm. Tighter than I expected.'
Normally, a response like this would illicit shock waves of terror, considering that Steve had a distinct size advantage on the scrappy cruiserweight. However, as Thad turned (and simultaneously covered) his genitals with his hands, a bashful smile was met with a seductive gaze from the black-haired vixen seated Indian-style on the bed.
Sammi twirled the towel on her pinkie finger.
'You gonna shut the door, or what?'