Subduing the Heavyweight Brass Belt

I slipped back inside from the porch as night settled, needing a trophy worthy of my daily conquest. Sprawled across the dark floorboards was a thick brown leather belt, coiled loosely like a sleeping python with its solid brass buckle gleaming with arrogant pomp. A true heavyweight champion never ignores championship gold. I dropped into an explosive wrestler's crouch, seized the heavy metal prong with both hands, and levered it upright with fierce torque. Driving my white boots against the thick leather strap, I locked the brass tongue straight into the center notch with a resounding click. The championship belt has officially been claimed.