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Seth Rollins' Dusty Rhodes Gear

Adrenaline, in my soul, Seth Rollins is Dusty rhodes

So, get this: Cody Rhodes and Seth Rollins are in a blood feud that hinges upon the later man’s inability to move on from getting beat with a roll-up, right?

It turns out that they’re the same guy, in a way, except that eons ago ago, one of those men left WWE. The other man stayed. Both rose to the top of their respective promotions through a combination of skill, luck, and grit. So discounting the fact that their feud up until Hell in a Cell has been your normal Dudes Who Dislike Each Other affair, they’re perfect opponents, twin Doink the Clowns doing their mirror routine ad infinitum.

But one of those dudes is at an 0-2 disadvantage in the feud and is admittedly feeling insecure about it, right? At this point, Seth Rollins does not know that Cody Rhodes would be showing up to Hell in a Cell with a fully blown pectoral muscle, so he needs an edge.

He calls his gearmaker.

On the other end of the line, Rollins’ seamstress sighs. Another goddamn pair of tights they think, remembering the dozens and dozens of intricate designs demanded by Seth Rollins in the past. But this time, things are different.

“I need black tights and a black tanktop,” he says, adding “and throw some yellow polkadots on them.”

The seamsrtress does it, no sweat. They fold the gear up, put it in a box, and mail it to Seth Rollins, who carefully opens the package, gazes upon his gear, and smiles. A perfect tribute to Dusty Rhodes, one of his mentors. And also a perfect “fuck you” to Dusty Rhodes, who fucking hated those polkadots when he wasn’t thinking about the money he made with them. Seth Rollins does his stupid little laugh. He has it. His secret weapon. And Cody’s injured.

And yet he’ll still end up wrestling that dork for over 20 minutes in gear that nobody looks good in.

About the Author

Colette Arrand

Colette Arrand is a minor transsexual poet and nu-metal enthusiast.