The Hangover Mysteries

If you were to check the Pop Culture Phenoms’ Instagram, Snapchat, X, Bluesky, or whatever other social media devices you kids use to stay in touch with one another, you would be hard pressed to notice that their most recent pay per view match was a loss.

In fact, you’d be hard pressed to see any sort of lamentation across social media for all the recent losses PCP have endured.

Pictures of Elise and the D three sheets to the wind, toasting amongst themselves in a secluded bottle service section of a night club. Standing up in a limo on the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles as the Hollywood Walk of Fame borders both sides of the frame. Whatever podunk town saw PCP lose, that is not the town they celebrate in.

You may be wondering, “Self, why do the PCP celebrate loss after loss?”

The answer? 

That sweet sweet Lindsay Troy money. 

They didn’t come to PRIME to rock the world. They didn’t come to PRIME to solidify themselves as the greatest tandem that ever existed. They came to PRIME for the money, and the money is good.

Good enough to get loaded five times a week and twice on Sundays.

You know when Denis Leary did that movie about the elephant and phoned in his performance? Yeah, that’s what you’re getting these days with the PCP. That, mixed with a hint of alcoholism, and just a touch of Klein enthusiasm, breads a cocktail of delicious zaniness that leads to nowhere but despair.

And hangovers.

Los Angeles, CA

An upper class hotel room, gilded with gold. Bottle service after bottle service, room service trays after trays lined in the hallways. It looks like a large glass chandelier has crashed through a wooden table in the center of the room. The couches appear torn and destroyed, their inner stuffing lining the floor.

Suddenly, the D sits up on a couch, just off frame. He spits up some of the couch foam, and blinks heavily. He rubs his head, and squints up at the bright lights of the open windowed floor plan. He stumbles to his feet, looking around at the wreckage of last night.

“Klein!” The D shouts out, hurting himself with his own volume. “Klein.” He whispers, trying to push away debris to see if Klein is stuck underneath. There’s a toilet flush, and the box man exits from the bathroom, a bandage over his trademark box after suffering multiple coins from the Kraken, Henry Keyes on an episode of DEFtv. He washes his hand and tosses the cloth to the D.  “D.” Klein nods. “Welcome back to the living.”

The D stands to his feet, wobbling as he does. He braces himself on Klein’s shoulders and shakes his head clear of the cobwebs. “You, uh.” The D clears his throat. “You know what we got up to last night?”

Klein smiles. He holds out his cell phone. It’s a video of Elise and the D, drunk off their asses.

“Yo Klein!” The D shouts, extending a shot to the cameraman. Klein declines, as the D downs the shot instead. “This is great! We’ve got so much cash-ola baby! The next round is on us!” The D shouts, as the patrons of the bar cheer him on. “Oh no, I meant his next round is on us.” The D laughs. “Ya’ll are on your own!”

Even in this bar, even outside of the wrestling world, The D gets the heat for this.

Elise leans into the camera frame. “So, Mike Tyson is here, I’m gonna go see if I can pet his Tiger.”

“Don’t lose an arm!” The D shouts out as Elise wanders off into the bar scene. “Man, I’ve always wanted to solve a mystery with Mike Tyson…”

Klein lowers the phone, as The D lowers his gaze in shame, his eyes bloodshot and yellowing. “So, uh… where’s Elise now? Did she come back?”

Klein shakes his head no. Klein looks up to the roof of the hotel.  The D motions to the bathroom, opens the door, stands frozen for a moment, and then slams the door shut.

“Do you know there’s a tiger in our bathroom?” The D shakes his head, as the Tiger leaps and pounces at the closed door, rocking it. “This is straight out of the Hangover. Which I’ve never seen. We should go rent the Hangover to see how this ends.”

“It’s actually a snow leopard. Tyson doesn’t keep Tigers anymore.” Klein said.

The D quickly gathers his bag, nods to Klein to do the same, and the two quickly exit the hotel room, leaving the leopard behind.

“Is Blockbuster still a thing?”

BEND, OREGON

The last Blockbuster in existence. The D and Klein step out onto the nearby sidewalk, and stare across to the shining beacon of a cinema time capsule.

Klein in particular, wants to rent the Last Unicorn at the Last Blockbuster.

The two quickly enter the store, and suddenly it’s 2001 once again. DVS, VHS tapes, even old video game systems have games on their shelf for rent. Prices, are not as they were once, but even the smell of stale popcorn lingers in the air.

The D rushes to the comedy section, and starts checking through the movies. “Hair, Hairspray, Half Baked, The Hangover 2?! Happy Gilmore?” The D starts throwing the dvds back onto the shelf. “Who the hell has rented the Hangover!?”

The D storms to the front counter. He pushes in front of an elderly man, slamming his elbows onto the counter. “Excuse me. Who the hell has rented the Hangover?”

The teenage clerk blinks. “Uh…”

“I demand to know who rented the Hangover. You have the Hangover in your inventory. There’s no way you don’t. It’s the Hangover.” The D slams his hands on the counter. “GIVE ME THE HANGOVER!” The D rubs his eyes. “Even after the flight I’m still fighting one…”

“Uh.” The clerk starts. “We had a copy. It was rented three years ago and never returned.” The clerk shrugs. “If you wanna go get it back for us you can watch it before you return it. Or, like…” the clerk pulls out his phone and quickly scrolls. In the background, an old dot matrix printout of a customer’s information. “You could have just subscribed to HBO Max, Hulu,  the Roku Channel, or pay 4 bucks to Apple… or Google.” The clerk rips off the paper and extends it to the D. “How much was your flight here?”

The D frowns. “It’s an experience. Give me that.” The D storms out. “C’mon Klein! This is not the Blockbuster I remember!” Klein scurries out, and the D tries to slam the door behind him. It’s one of those doors that are weighted, so as it gets closer to closed, it naturally has more resistance. The D on the other side pulls it shut. Then, he suddenly reopens it. “Also! That’s a breach of privacy! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!”

Klein takes a piece of paper and slams it up against the glass. It just says “I AM THE LAWYER.” The D nods, and the two walk off.

REDMOND, OREGON

The D pulls up in his rented sedan. He looks over to Klein, who looks exhausted.

“Alright, we’re here. Dover Christianson rented the Hangover 3 years ago, and owes forty two thousand and twenty seven cents worth of late fees. Damn. That’s a lot of late fees. That’s like… a lot of flights to Bend Oregon to rent dvds.” The D shrugs, and exits the car.

The two storm up to the quaint suburban home. The D stomps over the flowers as he reaches the porch, and cop knocks on the door. “EXCUSE ME! I BELIEVE YOU HAVE THE HANGOVER!” The D shouts. Klein rolls his eyes. “GIVE ME THE HANGOVER!” The D starts knocking even louder now, until the door creaks open.

An elderly woman stands on the other side, shaky, but kindly. “Hello?”

“You’re not Dover Christianson. Where’s Dover Christianson?! I believe he’s stolen my movie.” The D says, as he pushes in through the front entrance.

The house is decorated as an old woman’s house would, filled with pictures of her family, old chotskies, and that smell of plastic and hairspray. The D turns around, looking at all the pictures… there’s no Dover who matches the description.

“Oh, Dover owned this place before me. Would you like some pie?”

“Pie?” The D’s eyes perk up.

In the kitchen, this elderly grandma serves the D and Klein some pie. In the living room, her teenage grandson is watching TV. Just as the D is about to take the first bite… he notices… It’s the Hangover.

“YOU!” The D stands, pointing his fork to the sixteen year old. The teenage just frowns.

“Yes?”

“You have our DVD.”

“What’s a DVD?”

“What’s a dvd… you hear this kid? What’s a dvd.”

“No seriously. This is Hulu. See?” The kid points to the screen as the movie switches to a commercial.

“Wow.” The D frowns. “When did DVDs start getting commercials?”

Klein walks up to the D, hands him his pie, and the two sit down to watch the movie. The elderly grandmother also joins them, sitting in her trademark recliner.

A quick montage of the D and Klein reacting to the movie, laughing, gasping, holding each other at tense moments, eating pie. The two then thank their hosts, and walk to the exit. On the front porch, they wave goodbye and carry a goodie bag. “Thank you Mrs. Mortenson! Tell your kid he should learn what a DVD is!”

The door closes. The D turns to Klein. “So, I bet I know where Elise is.”

“The roof?”

"Yeah."

"Yeah..." Klein nods. "That was my guess."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You asked if I knew..." Klein kicks his feet on the ground. "I didn't KNOW."

LOS ANGELES, CA

The D and Klein return to the hotel, this time, exiting onto the roof at dusk. As the sun sets a golden hue lit up the sky.

As the large metallic door slams shut behind them, a startled Elise Ares gasps. She sits up, holding just a bed sheet covering her naked form. She looks over to D and Klein, and then around to her surroundings, taking it all in. “Oh man, last night was WILD!”

“I think we solved the mystery of where Elise Ares was!” The D shouts, slapping Klein in the chest.

Next to Elise, Mike Tyson sits up shirtless. “Did you say Mystery?”

The D's widen in enthusiasm. He starts hopping up and down and slaps Klein repeatedly in the chest. He turns to Mike Tyson with the biggest grin, and then points to nowhere in particular. “TO THE MYSTERY MOBILE!”

After a beat, with the D t-posed like that... Tyson scoffs. “I don’t actually have a mystery mobile.” Tyson shakes his head. “Mark.”

The D's felt more defeated in that moment than he ever could or would feel in a PRIME ring. Klein reaches out, hugging the D and patting his shoulders, as the two watch the sunset.

Mike Tyson turns to Elise. "So, I'm glad we didn't die of hypothermia. Thank you for that."

Elise laughs. "Of course!"

Klein scratches his box. He leans in, confused. "Wasn't it like, 72 degrees last night?"

"There there Klein." Elise says, pressing her finger over his box mouth holes. "Shut up."