Post by Jeff Purse on Feb 10, 2012 16:21:18 GMT -5
A word to the wise ain't necessary - it's the stupid ones that need the advice.
=======================================================
Feb. 7Th, 2012.
The scene opens to a door, gray. The walls are blue. The floor, a shiny white. There is some commotion being heard within the room the door leads to. After a while, the door opens, and out come Night Rider, Dangerous Don, Oblivion, and Jeff Purse. Jeff is wearing his usual attire, loose fitting blue jeans, white sneakers, a red shirt with the words "The Future" written in green, jagged, lightning bolt letters, signature Aviator sunglasses, and a greet monster hat, perfectly centered. He smiles and nods at the camera, giving it a "follow me" motion. He walks down the hall, turns left, turns right, opens a set of double doors with a red 'exit' sign above it. The doors open up to a parking garage. He walks past lines and lines of cars, the camera man's breath being heard now (obviously the camera man is out of shape).
They finally arrive at the gate of the parking structure. Jeff turns back to the camera man, waves his hand at the camera, in a "come on, keep up" fashion. He turns left out of the man structure and begins walking down the street. At this point, the audience may be wondering how the cord has not been pulled on the camera yet, but any smart man or woman would realize, duh, cordless camera. They walk a good block before Jeff stops at a cross street. The little hand signaling "not a good time to cross" on the other end of the street. Cars go by, some honk at the man on the corner being filmed, going by to quickly to actually see who it is, if they were a fan. The little man appears and Jeff crosses the street, camera man right on his heels.
Not sure where he is going, the camera man starts huffing and puffing even more so, nervous almost. It is dark outside, the only real light is that from the street lights. Even the light from the headlights of cars are few off and far between as less and less cars drive by. Jeff, however, walks without missing a beat. His stride on lock. He comes to a grassy field and turns right along the sidewalk, following it. The camera man now wheezing, they must have traveled at least a mile, or at least that is how the camera man feels. Its before long Jeff stops in front of a building. Its a really beat up old building, looks like there was a fire a long time ago. Jeff opens the door and enters, the cameraman still at his heels.
The first thing seen is a long stairway leading up into darkness. Jeff begins walking up the stairs into the darkness. He soon disappears into the dark, the camera still moving, but the man behind it breathing even heavier. He slows down, feels around and finds Jeff in the light of a window, from a street lamp. He follows Jeff closely through, small spots of light shining through in order to see in. Finally, he stops. A small, yellow light over his back. He is standing in front of a door. He starts talking, however, he never turns around and just faces the door. [/color]
Jeff: You know, a long time ago, a family lived in this apartment. Number 201. They were a small family, a father, a mother, a son. The father would go out to work every day at 9 in the morning. During the day the son would sit by the window and wait. He wouldn't play, he wouldn't talk with his mom. Sure, he was 2, it was hard for him to talk in complete sentences, but he would sit there and watch every person who passed by, counting each one. He would note the color of each persons coat, and he would catalog it in his mind, almost into a...a filing cabinet of sorts. And he would wait. He would wait until five o clock in the evening when he would see his father walk up the sidewalk. He would note, he would make sure to note, the color of his fathers coat, gray. But not dark gray, light gray. Small specks of lint stuck to it. And every day the son saw the kid walk up, he would lick the glass where his father was on the glass, leaving a cold, wet mark.
When the father came in the home, things were different for the child. He responded to what his mother said, he played with his family, he ate, he didn't count, he didn't catalog, he didn't lick. He just was a normal kid. He played, he talked, he sang, he did things that normal kids do. He watched television, most of all, he was normal.
This went on day after day. Every time his father left, he would sit at that window and wait. One day...in August. It was an important day in August for the little boy. He was turning 4. It was his birthday. He sat and he waited for his father to come home. But at four pm he started getting that feeling he usually got at this time, the rumble in the stomach, the excitement. He started bouncing, especially excited on this day because his father promise him a big surprise when he got home from work. He hardly noticed the phone ring in the background, and the subtle sobs of his mother as she mumbled words into the phone. At five o'clock, he waited. Hardly able to contain himself, he started licking the glass where everyone was walking by with a gray coat that resembled his fathers. His mother tried to pull him away from the window, but the child would NOT budge. She was yelling some incoherent things at him, but he was too busy waiting for his father.
Everyday after that day the boy got up in the morning, and sat by the window until bed time, waiting for his father to come home. Everyday for a year, until the mother took the child away from this place. Moved him to a different city, hell, a different state. The kid never, ever saw his father again.
No, the father did not die. That's not what the mother was shouting at her child. The father, he was a higher up executive at some large growing computer business I am not allowed to say on television, because I will be sued. It was the same story as always in these tales, the father was fucking his secretary. He got a promotion the week before his child's birthday, and instead of using that money to move his family into a house, he moved his secretary and into a house. With in. In a different country. He sent for his belongs, he didn't even have the decency to come back to the home and get his things. Or to wish his child a happy birthday. And this, this room, this apartment building burned the day before the child and his mom moved out.
He was burning away his father. Burning out any memory he might have had of him. Burning away the hurt that he felt everyday of his life that his father didn't come home. Burning out the filing cabinet in his mind that cataloged everyone he saw day in and day out waiting for his father. Burning out any trace that could be left of him. Burning the name of his father out of his mind. It didn't work though.
The child became angry after the move. He began acting out. Hurting other children, disobeying his mom, cataloging even more, licking even more. His compulsions got worse, his attitude soured. He was expelled from elementary school for trying to burn the place down. Apparently, according to his psychiatrist, whenever the boy got angry, he tried to burn away the memories. It could never work though, because he remembered EVERYTHING. Right down to the smell of his fathers cologne. And it angered the child even more.
Jeff slams his hand against the wall. A loud echo from the impact his heard. Jeff still facing the door.
Jeff: The child was a teenager now, 14. His brain was his worse enemy. It was destroying him from the inside out. Bringing him flashes of playing with his father when he was a little boy. All of his problems that made him stick out went away when his father was around. Those compulsions that he had disappeared. Now, he was teased. Made fun of by the other children, not only because he didn't have a father, but because he sucked on door knobs. He couldn't help but touch the shiny necklaces that the girls would wear. He was beat up daily. Then he found a cure. In the form of a pill. He started taking this pill, and he switched schools, and began riding his bike more.
Three years later, the boy is 17. He is normal. He wrestles for his school, and he competes at a professional level in BMX. Sitting at the biggest even for extreme sports in the world, the X games, a woman comes to interview him, for he just won his first gold medal. She tells him that his father must be very proud of him, and that night he goes home, and he cries. His mother tries, tries to comfort him but it doesn't work. He remembers what he could now choose not to remember. The pain of his father leaving him.
Seven years later, that boy is now a man. A professional wrestler who no longer has that pill, but he is able to control his memories. His compulsions are there, but the memories are just that. They don't own his life. Until three hours ago.
For the first time, Jeff turns and faces the camera. The reason for his back to the camera the whole time? He has been crying. Rivers of tears flowing down the cheeks of his face.
Jeff: Today, I received a call that my father had passed away. Today, that anger returns. But today, I am able to channel that anger...and at Slam...I will do just that.
The scene slowly fades to black.
========================================================
Feb. 10Th, 2012, Present Day.
The scene opens as many other scenes have, Jeff's backyard. Where he had once set up different booths meant to show how he would fair at One. However, this time there are statues, one labeled "Tek" one labeled "Nic Daniels" one labeled "Eric Price" and one labeled "STJ". Coiled wires lead away from each, connected to a TNT box about 10 ft. away from each. These have labels on them too. Connected to the STJ statue is a box labeled "Don Debeers", Nic Daniels is labeled "Night Rider", the one from Eric Price is labeled "Oblivion" and from the Tek statue is "Jeff Purse." And there, in front of the boxes, stands Jeff Purse, same clothes as we last seen him, except this time his shirt is blue with red lettering. He stands with his hands clasped at his chest, and opens his mouth to address the camera.
Jeff Purse: Today was my fathers funeral. Kari felt the need to go be with my mother, I skipped the event completely. I didn't know that man. That man made my childhood, my life a living hell. I hope he rots in the deepest, darkest bowls of hell, and all the little demons, when they shit, it falls right on his head. There are not many people in this world who hate more then that man, in fact there isn't anyone I hate more then that man. Many people would guess Bane from ACW, or Nathan Von Liebert. And while I do indeed hate these men, its nowhere close to the hate I have in my heart for my father. And on Sunday, I get to take this hate out on nobody else but The Society.
As you can see, I have set up a demonstration. I like demonstrations because they help you, the fans, visualize just exactly what I am really trying to say to my opponents. So without further ado, lets jump into it and start with STJ; and while I know little about The Society as a whole, I know least about STJ.
Jeff walks over to the box with Don on it, attached to the STJ statue, he puts his hand on the crank, not pushing it, but talking.
Jeff: STJ, Steeltoe Joe...that's a dumb name. Sorry but it really is stupid. Steeltoe Joe? What does that even mean, you wear steel toe boots a lot? On top of that, you are a Holy man. A Holy Flame even, as you like to say, and how in the hell does Steeltoe Joe give of that image. I imagine you would be a man who works on an oil rig, or a construction worker, but instead you are a servant of God. And its your kind, Steeltoe, that I think make God angry. See, there is preaching about faith, and then there is shoving it in peoples faces, and the one thing I watched of yours, that's what you are about. If I am wrong, I don't care, if I am right, well, I am right.
Tell me something STJ, a man like my father, is he going to heaven? Maybe he had another family and he was good to another son that he may have had, I don't know. Maybe he donated to charity, and help poor blind people after he left my mother and I. Perhaps he saved the life of a 78 year old nun after she saved children from a burning building. So Steeltoe, is he? No. Steeltoe, here is what will happen to your preaching ass at Slam.
He presses down the crank, and a few seconds later, the STJ statue explodes into a million pieces. They fly every which way. Jeff watches and smiles, really its a spectacle that any guy would enjoy. He walks to the next crank, Night Rider, hooked up to Eric Price.
Jeff: Eric Price. I have to say of all the Prices in the WCF, you rank the lowest, Eric. Though you may not be related, Jay Price has a certain elegance you can't compare to. He is, as he has said before, Jay Motherfucking Price. But comparing you two is stupid, since the only thing you have in common is a last name. And that isn't really a comparable thing.
Eric Price, again I don't know to much about you, but to be honest, while looking through your old tapes, I got very, very bored. Almost to the point of sleeping. "His win was a fluke" and "I had to save my buddies" and garbage garbage garbage coming out of your mouth. That's all that really comes out of there, though, isn't it Eric? Garbage. You made a mistake, Eric, when you chose to run with your old cohorts again, Tek and Nic Daniels, because you actually could have had a future here in the WCF. You had some kind of talent and you took it, you balled it up, and you threw it in the trash compacter that is The Society and disposed of any possible wins you could have gotten after making that decision. Sure, you guys collectively ran the GLS out of the WCF, but honestly, I could have done that with both my hands tied behind my back after someone threw garbage all over me. Eric Price, here is your fate at Slam.
Again, he press the lever down, again, the statue explodes into almost dust. Jeff, again, smiles. This is very therapeutic for him. He walks to the next box, connected to the Nic Daniels statue.
Jeff: Nic Daniels, the clown of The Society, which is very, very sad to have to say. Thinks he can come out and face four men of our caliber and win let alone survive. The fact that Oblivion is in this match should make you realize that you would be killed. Come on. And yes, Nic, the tag team champions are the tag team champions for a reason. Meaning, in the tag division, they are the best. Period. So sayth the gold. Weather or not that means anything to you or not, it doesn't matter, buddy. Its just the way it is.
Let me bust a little rhyme for you Nic, since you like to rap.
His name is Nic,
He is a dumb dick
He is going to get beat
like he is a giant pile of meat
Nic Daniels is weak
Nic Daniels, at Slam, you will be beat!
OH SICK OH WHOO GO ME GO ME! Nic, here is your fate.
He blows up the Nic Daniels statue. He smiles, walks to the Tek statue.
Jeff: Tek...Were you drunk the last time you cut a promo? It was hard to follow. At one point, you were listen in on the meeting the AoD and myself were having, the next minute you are talking to Seth Lerch like he is a baby. Or a Seth Lerch impersonator because I doubt you have the stones to talk to you Seth that way. You are a wuss, I mean, hell, you had to align yourself with men who are way better then you to even pick up a victory here. A good strategy, yes, however it shows that you are exactly what Oblivion said you and your friends were, a pussy.Tek, I have no time to waste on you, you are the weakest link my friend. Tek, The Society, Welcome to The Future!
And in one swift motion, the Tek statue gets destroyed, thanks to TNT. Jeff whoops and hollers as the scene slowly fades to black.
=======================================================
Feb. 7Th, 2012.
The scene opens to a door, gray. The walls are blue. The floor, a shiny white. There is some commotion being heard within the room the door leads to. After a while, the door opens, and out come Night Rider, Dangerous Don, Oblivion, and Jeff Purse. Jeff is wearing his usual attire, loose fitting blue jeans, white sneakers, a red shirt with the words "The Future" written in green, jagged, lightning bolt letters, signature Aviator sunglasses, and a greet monster hat, perfectly centered. He smiles and nods at the camera, giving it a "follow me" motion. He walks down the hall, turns left, turns right, opens a set of double doors with a red 'exit' sign above it. The doors open up to a parking garage. He walks past lines and lines of cars, the camera man's breath being heard now (obviously the camera man is out of shape).
They finally arrive at the gate of the parking structure. Jeff turns back to the camera man, waves his hand at the camera, in a "come on, keep up" fashion. He turns left out of the man structure and begins walking down the street. At this point, the audience may be wondering how the cord has not been pulled on the camera yet, but any smart man or woman would realize, duh, cordless camera. They walk a good block before Jeff stops at a cross street. The little hand signaling "not a good time to cross" on the other end of the street. Cars go by, some honk at the man on the corner being filmed, going by to quickly to actually see who it is, if they were a fan. The little man appears and Jeff crosses the street, camera man right on his heels.
Not sure where he is going, the camera man starts huffing and puffing even more so, nervous almost. It is dark outside, the only real light is that from the street lights. Even the light from the headlights of cars are few off and far between as less and less cars drive by. Jeff, however, walks without missing a beat. His stride on lock. He comes to a grassy field and turns right along the sidewalk, following it. The camera man now wheezing, they must have traveled at least a mile, or at least that is how the camera man feels. Its before long Jeff stops in front of a building. Its a really beat up old building, looks like there was a fire a long time ago. Jeff opens the door and enters, the cameraman still at his heels.
The first thing seen is a long stairway leading up into darkness. Jeff begins walking up the stairs into the darkness. He soon disappears into the dark, the camera still moving, but the man behind it breathing even heavier. He slows down, feels around and finds Jeff in the light of a window, from a street lamp. He follows Jeff closely through, small spots of light shining through in order to see in. Finally, he stops. A small, yellow light over his back. He is standing in front of a door. He starts talking, however, he never turns around and just faces the door. [/color]
Jeff: You know, a long time ago, a family lived in this apartment. Number 201. They were a small family, a father, a mother, a son. The father would go out to work every day at 9 in the morning. During the day the son would sit by the window and wait. He wouldn't play, he wouldn't talk with his mom. Sure, he was 2, it was hard for him to talk in complete sentences, but he would sit there and watch every person who passed by, counting each one. He would note the color of each persons coat, and he would catalog it in his mind, almost into a...a filing cabinet of sorts. And he would wait. He would wait until five o clock in the evening when he would see his father walk up the sidewalk. He would note, he would make sure to note, the color of his fathers coat, gray. But not dark gray, light gray. Small specks of lint stuck to it. And every day the son saw the kid walk up, he would lick the glass where his father was on the glass, leaving a cold, wet mark.
When the father came in the home, things were different for the child. He responded to what his mother said, he played with his family, he ate, he didn't count, he didn't catalog, he didn't lick. He just was a normal kid. He played, he talked, he sang, he did things that normal kids do. He watched television, most of all, he was normal.
This went on day after day. Every time his father left, he would sit at that window and wait. One day...in August. It was an important day in August for the little boy. He was turning 4. It was his birthday. He sat and he waited for his father to come home. But at four pm he started getting that feeling he usually got at this time, the rumble in the stomach, the excitement. He started bouncing, especially excited on this day because his father promise him a big surprise when he got home from work. He hardly noticed the phone ring in the background, and the subtle sobs of his mother as she mumbled words into the phone. At five o'clock, he waited. Hardly able to contain himself, he started licking the glass where everyone was walking by with a gray coat that resembled his fathers. His mother tried to pull him away from the window, but the child would NOT budge. She was yelling some incoherent things at him, but he was too busy waiting for his father.
Everyday after that day the boy got up in the morning, and sat by the window until bed time, waiting for his father to come home. Everyday for a year, until the mother took the child away from this place. Moved him to a different city, hell, a different state. The kid never, ever saw his father again.
No, the father did not die. That's not what the mother was shouting at her child. The father, he was a higher up executive at some large growing computer business I am not allowed to say on television, because I will be sued. It was the same story as always in these tales, the father was fucking his secretary. He got a promotion the week before his child's birthday, and instead of using that money to move his family into a house, he moved his secretary and into a house. With in. In a different country. He sent for his belongs, he didn't even have the decency to come back to the home and get his things. Or to wish his child a happy birthday. And this, this room, this apartment building burned the day before the child and his mom moved out.
He was burning away his father. Burning out any memory he might have had of him. Burning away the hurt that he felt everyday of his life that his father didn't come home. Burning out the filing cabinet in his mind that cataloged everyone he saw day in and day out waiting for his father. Burning out any trace that could be left of him. Burning the name of his father out of his mind. It didn't work though.
The child became angry after the move. He began acting out. Hurting other children, disobeying his mom, cataloging even more, licking even more. His compulsions got worse, his attitude soured. He was expelled from elementary school for trying to burn the place down. Apparently, according to his psychiatrist, whenever the boy got angry, he tried to burn away the memories. It could never work though, because he remembered EVERYTHING. Right down to the smell of his fathers cologne. And it angered the child even more.
Jeff slams his hand against the wall. A loud echo from the impact his heard. Jeff still facing the door.
Jeff: The child was a teenager now, 14. His brain was his worse enemy. It was destroying him from the inside out. Bringing him flashes of playing with his father when he was a little boy. All of his problems that made him stick out went away when his father was around. Those compulsions that he had disappeared. Now, he was teased. Made fun of by the other children, not only because he didn't have a father, but because he sucked on door knobs. He couldn't help but touch the shiny necklaces that the girls would wear. He was beat up daily. Then he found a cure. In the form of a pill. He started taking this pill, and he switched schools, and began riding his bike more.
Three years later, the boy is 17. He is normal. He wrestles for his school, and he competes at a professional level in BMX. Sitting at the biggest even for extreme sports in the world, the X games, a woman comes to interview him, for he just won his first gold medal. She tells him that his father must be very proud of him, and that night he goes home, and he cries. His mother tries, tries to comfort him but it doesn't work. He remembers what he could now choose not to remember. The pain of his father leaving him.
Seven years later, that boy is now a man. A professional wrestler who no longer has that pill, but he is able to control his memories. His compulsions are there, but the memories are just that. They don't own his life. Until three hours ago.
For the first time, Jeff turns and faces the camera. The reason for his back to the camera the whole time? He has been crying. Rivers of tears flowing down the cheeks of his face.
Jeff: Today, I received a call that my father had passed away. Today, that anger returns. But today, I am able to channel that anger...and at Slam...I will do just that.
The scene slowly fades to black.
========================================================
Feb. 10Th, 2012, Present Day.
The scene opens as many other scenes have, Jeff's backyard. Where he had once set up different booths meant to show how he would fair at One. However, this time there are statues, one labeled "Tek" one labeled "Nic Daniels" one labeled "Eric Price" and one labeled "STJ". Coiled wires lead away from each, connected to a TNT box about 10 ft. away from each. These have labels on them too. Connected to the STJ statue is a box labeled "Don Debeers", Nic Daniels is labeled "Night Rider", the one from Eric Price is labeled "Oblivion" and from the Tek statue is "Jeff Purse." And there, in front of the boxes, stands Jeff Purse, same clothes as we last seen him, except this time his shirt is blue with red lettering. He stands with his hands clasped at his chest, and opens his mouth to address the camera.
Jeff Purse: Today was my fathers funeral. Kari felt the need to go be with my mother, I skipped the event completely. I didn't know that man. That man made my childhood, my life a living hell. I hope he rots in the deepest, darkest bowls of hell, and all the little demons, when they shit, it falls right on his head. There are not many people in this world who hate more then that man, in fact there isn't anyone I hate more then that man. Many people would guess Bane from ACW, or Nathan Von Liebert. And while I do indeed hate these men, its nowhere close to the hate I have in my heart for my father. And on Sunday, I get to take this hate out on nobody else but The Society.
As you can see, I have set up a demonstration. I like demonstrations because they help you, the fans, visualize just exactly what I am really trying to say to my opponents. So without further ado, lets jump into it and start with STJ; and while I know little about The Society as a whole, I know least about STJ.
Jeff walks over to the box with Don on it, attached to the STJ statue, he puts his hand on the crank, not pushing it, but talking.
Jeff: STJ, Steeltoe Joe...that's a dumb name. Sorry but it really is stupid. Steeltoe Joe? What does that even mean, you wear steel toe boots a lot? On top of that, you are a Holy man. A Holy Flame even, as you like to say, and how in the hell does Steeltoe Joe give of that image. I imagine you would be a man who works on an oil rig, or a construction worker, but instead you are a servant of God. And its your kind, Steeltoe, that I think make God angry. See, there is preaching about faith, and then there is shoving it in peoples faces, and the one thing I watched of yours, that's what you are about. If I am wrong, I don't care, if I am right, well, I am right.
Tell me something STJ, a man like my father, is he going to heaven? Maybe he had another family and he was good to another son that he may have had, I don't know. Maybe he donated to charity, and help poor blind people after he left my mother and I. Perhaps he saved the life of a 78 year old nun after she saved children from a burning building. So Steeltoe, is he? No. Steeltoe, here is what will happen to your preaching ass at Slam.
He presses down the crank, and a few seconds later, the STJ statue explodes into a million pieces. They fly every which way. Jeff watches and smiles, really its a spectacle that any guy would enjoy. He walks to the next crank, Night Rider, hooked up to Eric Price.
Jeff: Eric Price. I have to say of all the Prices in the WCF, you rank the lowest, Eric. Though you may not be related, Jay Price has a certain elegance you can't compare to. He is, as he has said before, Jay Motherfucking Price. But comparing you two is stupid, since the only thing you have in common is a last name. And that isn't really a comparable thing.
Eric Price, again I don't know to much about you, but to be honest, while looking through your old tapes, I got very, very bored. Almost to the point of sleeping. "His win was a fluke" and "I had to save my buddies" and garbage garbage garbage coming out of your mouth. That's all that really comes out of there, though, isn't it Eric? Garbage. You made a mistake, Eric, when you chose to run with your old cohorts again, Tek and Nic Daniels, because you actually could have had a future here in the WCF. You had some kind of talent and you took it, you balled it up, and you threw it in the trash compacter that is The Society and disposed of any possible wins you could have gotten after making that decision. Sure, you guys collectively ran the GLS out of the WCF, but honestly, I could have done that with both my hands tied behind my back after someone threw garbage all over me. Eric Price, here is your fate at Slam.
Again, he press the lever down, again, the statue explodes into almost dust. Jeff, again, smiles. This is very therapeutic for him. He walks to the next box, connected to the Nic Daniels statue.
Jeff: Nic Daniels, the clown of The Society, which is very, very sad to have to say. Thinks he can come out and face four men of our caliber and win let alone survive. The fact that Oblivion is in this match should make you realize that you would be killed. Come on. And yes, Nic, the tag team champions are the tag team champions for a reason. Meaning, in the tag division, they are the best. Period. So sayth the gold. Weather or not that means anything to you or not, it doesn't matter, buddy. Its just the way it is.
Let me bust a little rhyme for you Nic, since you like to rap.
His name is Nic,
He is a dumb dick
He is going to get beat
like he is a giant pile of meat
Nic Daniels is weak
Nic Daniels, at Slam, you will be beat!
OH SICK OH WHOO GO ME GO ME! Nic, here is your fate.
He blows up the Nic Daniels statue. He smiles, walks to the Tek statue.
Jeff: Tek...Were you drunk the last time you cut a promo? It was hard to follow. At one point, you were listen in on the meeting the AoD and myself were having, the next minute you are talking to Seth Lerch like he is a baby. Or a Seth Lerch impersonator because I doubt you have the stones to talk to you Seth that way. You are a wuss, I mean, hell, you had to align yourself with men who are way better then you to even pick up a victory here. A good strategy, yes, however it shows that you are exactly what Oblivion said you and your friends were, a pussy.Tek, I have no time to waste on you, you are the weakest link my friend. Tek, The Society, Welcome to The Future!
And in one swift motion, the Tek statue gets destroyed, thanks to TNT. Jeff whoops and hollers as the scene slowly fades to black.
