Post by Deleted on May 13, 2011 9:35:27 GMT -5
Your senses jump to life. You find yourself standing in the middle of an audience at an outdoor venue of some sort. Your equilibrium is out of whack and you're not entirely certain as to the specifics of your current locale, but judging by the scent of purified agua in the air you hazard a guess that you're at a water park. Judging by the thunderous cheers and drunken chants of your fellow audience members you hazard an even more specific guess: You're at a wrestling show that's being contested at a water park... in Des Moines, Iowa.
As you struggle to gain your bearings, an overzealous wrestling fan in front of you throws his arm back and sends the contents of his beverage container hurling toward your face. In an instant you are soaked in overpriced domestic beer. Strangely, the splash of brew directly to your face seems to have awakened you from your daze and you're now growing increasingly cognizant of your surroundings. You remove your soaked fleece pullover and use your cotton undershirt to wipe the remnants of beer drizzle from your face. You think about planting a solid shot to the back of the head of the goon who splashed you, but your attention is suddenly drawn elsewhere. The violence inside of the wrestling ring that has the rest of the spectators entranced has caught your attention as well.
You immediately recognize the crimson-coated silhouettes of the two competitors inside of the ring as belonging to Greenfever and the reigning WCF Hardcore Champion Phillip Baines. Both men are covered in blood from head to toe. Weapons such as chairs, kendo sticks and barbed wire baseball bats litter the blood-soaked ring along with ominous, bladed instruments that look like they were absconded from a slaughterhouse. There's also a table set up in the corner of the ring with a gas can and a pack of matches sitting next to it on the mat. None of those prospective weapons are coming into play right now though. Greenfever appears to be firmly in control of the obviously battered and beaten Phillip Baines. You watch as Greenfever grabs a handful of Baines' long-flowing, previously black mane and yanks back on it. Baines grimaces but he's been too weakened from battle to put up much of a struggle. Your stomach drops when you spot a hunting knife with a long, serrated blade in Greenfever's other hand. Greenfever hatefully plunges the blade into Baines' stomach flesh and twists as the crowd collectively gasps.
Baines' eyes roll back into his skull and his body goes limp. The entrails contained within Baines' stomach cavity are expertly disgorged from their home by the knife-wielding madman. An orgy of blood and intestines spills from Baines' torso in a scene that's far more gruesome than anything that you've witnessed in a horror movie or even a Rebecca Black music video. Greenfever pulls back on the knife, removing it from Baines' stomach, and releases his grip on Baines' nape. Baines falls lifelessly to the mat. The referee drops to the mat in chorus with Baines' body and calmly searches him for any sign of a pulse. After a brief moment the referee shakes his head and calls for the bell, then frantically waves for medical personnel to enter the ring. The stiff, bloodied remains of Phillip Baines are tended to on the mat by a team of medics who work desperately to revive him.
The hard-rocking sounds of Rob Zombie's "Run Rabbit Run" blast through the PA system of the Water Works Park as the Des Moines crowd goes apeshit bonkers for the awesome act of homicide that they've just witnessed. You, on the other hand... you can feel the liquids trickling down the legs of your jeans. Fortunately they're black jeans. Greenfever performs a series of Hulk Hogan-esque taunts and demonstrations for the fans and they lap it right up and cheer for their sadistic hero.
Ring Announcer: Here is your winner and NEEEW WCF Hardcore Champion... GREEEEN FEEEVEEER!!!!!!
Greenfever collects his newly won prize, the WCF Hardcore Championship, from a ringside attendant. Greenfever climbs onto the turnbuckles, clenches the straps of the championship belt in his blood-soaked hands and hoists the championship high above his head as the cheers from the crowd grow ever louder. You are beside yourself with grief at having watched a human being be butchered in the middle of a wrestling ring and cannot fathom the reaction of this capacity crowd, but you have to admit that this is the loudest wrestling crowd that you've heard since the heyday of The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin.
Amidst the celebration of Greenfever and the fans, the mounting frustration on the faces of the EMT workers is evident. Their effort to revive Baines by jolting his heart back to life with the shock paddles and repackaging his vital organs inside of his body has proven fruitless. The head EMT throws his hands up in a concession that this just isn't going to work. He lets out a heavy sigh and then stands up and walks over to the referee. The EMT doesn't say a word, he simply shakes his head with a solemn expression on his face. The referee nods in grim understanding and then delivers the tragic news to the ring announcer, who signals to the production truck to cut the music. This bemuses Greenfever, who jumps down from the turnbuckles and slings his title belt over his shoulder. The ring announcer raises the microphone to his lips and pauses for a couple of seconds to collect himself before speaking.
Ring Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that WCF has suffered its first ever casualty inside of the ring. Phillip Baines is... dead. I ask that you join me at this time in bowing your heads for a moment of silence to honor this courageous young superstar who sacrificed everything for the sport that he loves.
A hush falls over the park, as you and the rest of the audience members lower your heads. You don't know if you really believe in God, but you say a silent prayer for the soul of Phillip Baines anyway. It can't hurt, right? The silence is suddenly broken by a woman's shrill screams. You open your eyes to see Baines' girlfriend Gina De Carlo climbing into the ring with tears streaming down her face. She appears to be hysterical as she cradles Phil's head in her hands and presses his face against her massive tits. Greenfever cackles with glee at this spectacle. You figure that if anything could bring a dead man back to life it would be those tits. Sadly, it is not to be. Gina tilts her head back. Tears are still streaming down her beautiful face as she looks toward the sky and curses God and the heavens above for taking her beloved Phillip away from her. She rubs the back of Phil's head with her hands as if trying to bring him some sort of comfort in his deceased state.
You can't help but feel bad for Gina, and Phil for that matter. It seems like they really did love each other, and Phil was such a young guy. It's a shame that he had to lose his life at the hands of a ruthless sociopath like Greenfever. Oh well... you're suddenly hungry. Seeing Phil's entrails spill out of his body has put you in the mood for lasagna. "Are there any decent Italian restaurants in Des Moines?" you ponder. You think of asking the clearly traumatized teenage girl in the Club Cool tank top next to you, but you don't want to appear crass. You see the EMT's and WCF staff members consoling Gina in the ring as a sheet is laid over Phil's body. Suddenly you hear a squealing sound, which you quickly recognize as the sound of an electric guitar and more specifically the prelude to a classic Van Halen track. "What the hell is going on now?" you wonder. You close your eyes for an instant and when you open them you find that your world doesn't exist anymore.
Eyes open. Phillip Baines awakens in bed to the sound of Van Halen's "Poundcake" blaring in his ears. Phil scrunches his face and lets out a yawn. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and rolls over toward the nightstand next to the bed. He reaches out with his hand and pummels the off button to the alarm on his Bose clock-radio. Phil glances at the time on the digital display; it reads 5:00 AM. Phil lets out a sigh and lies down on his back. He gazes over to the floor next to the bed and notices an abundance of sunflower seed shells and empty alcohol bottles.
Phil: Fuck, that was a great idea... getting plastered on the morning of the biggest match of my career and getting less than three hours sleep. Oh well, I can always catch some Z's on the flight to Des Moines.
A dainty, female arm reaches out and drapes itself across Phil's chest. Phil cocks his head to the side and sees Gina's beautiful face smiling at him. He smiles back at her. They pull in close and kiss. It's nothing fancy, just a good morning, I love you but your breath isn't too fresh right now so let's not go overboard kiss. Phil and Gina gaze lovingly into each other's eyes as they rest their heads on a single pillow.
Phil: How are you doing, babe?
Gina: Oh, I feel greeeat.
Gina lets a cute little yawn slip from her kissable, cherry-red lips.
Gina: I slept for a good eight hours. How about you?
Phil: No such luck. I was up scouting Greenie, then I had to cut a last minute promo to respond to some nonsense that he was talking in his promos, then I...
Gina silences Phil by pressing her index finger on his lips.
Gina: You got drunk and listened to rock and roll music until two in the morning?
Phil nods his head sheepishly.
Phil: Yeah... you know me well, babe.
Gina chuckles as she snuggles up to Phil. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.
Gina: Do you think you're going to be ready to go for the match tonight?
Phil: Of course. I might be a little bit tired and hungover right now, but when the adrenaline kicks in before my match I'm going to be flying higher than Jason Kash on a week-long smoke out. Besides, I've spent more time and effort preparing for this match than for any other match in my career.
Gina: I know, babe. I've been training with you everyday in the gym. I think that's why I've been sleeping so well -- all of those long, grinding workouts!
Phil: And not just the long, grinding workouts at the gym, right?
Phil squeezes Gina's tush and she lets out a mellifluous giggle.
Phil: I'm telling you, Gina. I know Greenfever inside and out. It's comical to me that he honestly believed he could intimidate me, even after I put his ass through a flaming table the last time we met. He tried to intimidate me by challenging me to a Flatliner match, like the prospect of having my heart stopped would somehow have me shaking and shitting myself. As if a man who has the kind of sex that I have with you hasn't had his heart stopped on more than one occasion.
Gina smiles knowingly and nods her head.
Phil: He even thought he could intimidate me with that silly string of promos that he aired last night. I mean it was the same old redundant horror movie bullshit that he's been repeating from Day One. If it didn't intimidate me last time why would it suddenly intimidate me this time around? All I can figure is that the man is getting desperate. He realizes that he's set a trap for himself and the only way to escape... is to die.
The expression on Gina's face suddenly turns to a look of concern.
Gina: What happens... if you don't win, Phil?
Phil: Well I know what happened in my dream--
Phil cuts himself off with a hearty and uproarious laugh.
Phil: That sumbitch gutted me with a hunting knife! The blade must have been seventeen inches!
Gina gulps hard.
Gina: That's what you dreamt about this morning? That's kind of an eerie premonition, Phil.
Gina squeezes Phil tight as her look of concern grows.
Phil: Yeah, it was one of those dreams where I was myself but I wasn't myself... do you know what I mean? Don't worry about it though, babe. It was just my subconscious mind's way of telling me to be alert and expect the unexpected tonight. It's all part of my training method.
Gina flashes a skeptical look at Phil.
Gina: You use dreams as part of your training?
Phil: Of course. Don't you?
Gina raises an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side.
Phil: I'm not crazy, babe. Don't look at me like I'm crazy.
Gina: Whatev.
Gina closes her eyes and snuggles close to Phil's heaving man-chest.
Phil: I tell you though, that subconscious experience helped me to make a conscious decision; I don't want you to be at ringside tonight, Gina. Bobby and Emily neither.
Gina's eyes jump to life and she raises her body to a seated position next to Phil.
Gina: Are you crazy, Phil? What if he brings in reinforcements? We should be there to back you up in case the shit hits the fan.
Phil waves off any such notions with a motion of his hand.
Phil: That's not necessary, babe. I know Greenfever. If he's going to kill me he'll want to do it on his own accord. What would be the point of bringing in back-up? How could he possibly gain any satisfaction from that? Besides, who could he bring in? Oblivion is booked up. He has his hands full with Jay Williams in a Falls Count Anywhere match for the World Championship. Who else is there for Greenie to turn to? Marilyn? Dr. Heill? Those are both highly unlikely options, my dear Gina.
Gina sighs.
Gina: I know, but you just never know what that sick fuck is going to have up his sleeve, especially in a match with no rules, where the object is to... make your opponent's heart stop beating.
Gina visibly shudders as those last few words part from her lips.
Phil: Did you just have an orgasm, babe?
Gina: No! The thought of you being in that kind of match gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Phil: That's precisely why I don't want you at ringside. I don't want you to bear witness to what I'm going to do to this man, the so-called Omega Greenfever. You would never be able to look at me the same way after I murder him with my bare hands, and I just can't have that. I can't strain my relationship with the woman that I'm going to marry and start a family with.
Gina crinkles her cute little nose. She stares at Phil for a moment before nodding her head.
Gina: I think you're right, Phil.
Phil: Thanks, babe. I appreciate the fact that you want to be out there, but I know that this is the best way to do it.
Phil and Gina embrace, one naked body meeting another to form a perfect white orb. They remain in that position for untold minutes before finally separating. When they do, Phil grimaces and grasps at his stomach.
Gina: Are you ok, babe?
Phil: I think I ate too many sunflower seeds this morning. I gotta hit the can, babe.
Gina: Ok. While you're doing that, I'll double-check the luggage to make sure that we have everything packed, and then I'll get started on making breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day and there's no way that you're going to beat Greenfever on a diet of sunflower seeds and airplane food.
Phil kisses Gina.
Phil: Thanks, babe. You're a lifesaver.
Gina smiles. Phil scurries out of bed and appears to be gliding through the air like the spirit of Michael Jackson as he hurries toward the bathroom door. Phil doesn't even bother opening the door, he transmorphs through it and regroups his cellular structure once inside the bathroom. Phil cops a squat on the large, white, porcelain throne and spreads out in a wide base to ensure the maximum flow of air and fluid from his ass to the bowl below. A few seconds pass before a MASSIVE fart explodes from Phil's asshole. At this moment the scene fades out and the flatulent audio is replaced by the head-bobbing American rock and roll sounds of none other than... yeah, you guessed it!
As you struggle to gain your bearings, an overzealous wrestling fan in front of you throws his arm back and sends the contents of his beverage container hurling toward your face. In an instant you are soaked in overpriced domestic beer. Strangely, the splash of brew directly to your face seems to have awakened you from your daze and you're now growing increasingly cognizant of your surroundings. You remove your soaked fleece pullover and use your cotton undershirt to wipe the remnants of beer drizzle from your face. You think about planting a solid shot to the back of the head of the goon who splashed you, but your attention is suddenly drawn elsewhere. The violence inside of the wrestling ring that has the rest of the spectators entranced has caught your attention as well.
You immediately recognize the crimson-coated silhouettes of the two competitors inside of the ring as belonging to Greenfever and the reigning WCF Hardcore Champion Phillip Baines. Both men are covered in blood from head to toe. Weapons such as chairs, kendo sticks and barbed wire baseball bats litter the blood-soaked ring along with ominous, bladed instruments that look like they were absconded from a slaughterhouse. There's also a table set up in the corner of the ring with a gas can and a pack of matches sitting next to it on the mat. None of those prospective weapons are coming into play right now though. Greenfever appears to be firmly in control of the obviously battered and beaten Phillip Baines. You watch as Greenfever grabs a handful of Baines' long-flowing, previously black mane and yanks back on it. Baines grimaces but he's been too weakened from battle to put up much of a struggle. Your stomach drops when you spot a hunting knife with a long, serrated blade in Greenfever's other hand. Greenfever hatefully plunges the blade into Baines' stomach flesh and twists as the crowd collectively gasps.
Baines' eyes roll back into his skull and his body goes limp. The entrails contained within Baines' stomach cavity are expertly disgorged from their home by the knife-wielding madman. An orgy of blood and intestines spills from Baines' torso in a scene that's far more gruesome than anything that you've witnessed in a horror movie or even a Rebecca Black music video. Greenfever pulls back on the knife, removing it from Baines' stomach, and releases his grip on Baines' nape. Baines falls lifelessly to the mat. The referee drops to the mat in chorus with Baines' body and calmly searches him for any sign of a pulse. After a brief moment the referee shakes his head and calls for the bell, then frantically waves for medical personnel to enter the ring. The stiff, bloodied remains of Phillip Baines are tended to on the mat by a team of medics who work desperately to revive him.
The hard-rocking sounds of Rob Zombie's "Run Rabbit Run" blast through the PA system of the Water Works Park as the Des Moines crowd goes apeshit bonkers for the awesome act of homicide that they've just witnessed. You, on the other hand... you can feel the liquids trickling down the legs of your jeans. Fortunately they're black jeans. Greenfever performs a series of Hulk Hogan-esque taunts and demonstrations for the fans and they lap it right up and cheer for their sadistic hero.
Ring Announcer: Here is your winner and NEEEW WCF Hardcore Champion... GREEEEN FEEEVEEER!!!!!!
Greenfever collects his newly won prize, the WCF Hardcore Championship, from a ringside attendant. Greenfever climbs onto the turnbuckles, clenches the straps of the championship belt in his blood-soaked hands and hoists the championship high above his head as the cheers from the crowd grow ever louder. You are beside yourself with grief at having watched a human being be butchered in the middle of a wrestling ring and cannot fathom the reaction of this capacity crowd, but you have to admit that this is the loudest wrestling crowd that you've heard since the heyday of The Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin.
Amidst the celebration of Greenfever and the fans, the mounting frustration on the faces of the EMT workers is evident. Their effort to revive Baines by jolting his heart back to life with the shock paddles and repackaging his vital organs inside of his body has proven fruitless. The head EMT throws his hands up in a concession that this just isn't going to work. He lets out a heavy sigh and then stands up and walks over to the referee. The EMT doesn't say a word, he simply shakes his head with a solemn expression on his face. The referee nods in grim understanding and then delivers the tragic news to the ring announcer, who signals to the production truck to cut the music. This bemuses Greenfever, who jumps down from the turnbuckles and slings his title belt over his shoulder. The ring announcer raises the microphone to his lips and pauses for a couple of seconds to collect himself before speaking.
Ring Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that WCF has suffered its first ever casualty inside of the ring. Phillip Baines is... dead. I ask that you join me at this time in bowing your heads for a moment of silence to honor this courageous young superstar who sacrificed everything for the sport that he loves.
A hush falls over the park, as you and the rest of the audience members lower your heads. You don't know if you really believe in God, but you say a silent prayer for the soul of Phillip Baines anyway. It can't hurt, right? The silence is suddenly broken by a woman's shrill screams. You open your eyes to see Baines' girlfriend Gina De Carlo climbing into the ring with tears streaming down her face. She appears to be hysterical as she cradles Phil's head in her hands and presses his face against her massive tits. Greenfever cackles with glee at this spectacle. You figure that if anything could bring a dead man back to life it would be those tits. Sadly, it is not to be. Gina tilts her head back. Tears are still streaming down her beautiful face as she looks toward the sky and curses God and the heavens above for taking her beloved Phillip away from her. She rubs the back of Phil's head with her hands as if trying to bring him some sort of comfort in his deceased state.
You can't help but feel bad for Gina, and Phil for that matter. It seems like they really did love each other, and Phil was such a young guy. It's a shame that he had to lose his life at the hands of a ruthless sociopath like Greenfever. Oh well... you're suddenly hungry. Seeing Phil's entrails spill out of his body has put you in the mood for lasagna. "Are there any decent Italian restaurants in Des Moines?" you ponder. You think of asking the clearly traumatized teenage girl in the Club Cool tank top next to you, but you don't want to appear crass. You see the EMT's and WCF staff members consoling Gina in the ring as a sheet is laid over Phil's body. Suddenly you hear a squealing sound, which you quickly recognize as the sound of an electric guitar and more specifically the prelude to a classic Van Halen track. "What the hell is going on now?" you wonder. You close your eyes for an instant and when you open them you find that your world doesn't exist anymore.
Eyes open. Phillip Baines awakens in bed to the sound of Van Halen's "Poundcake" blaring in his ears. Phil scrunches his face and lets out a yawn. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and rolls over toward the nightstand next to the bed. He reaches out with his hand and pummels the off button to the alarm on his Bose clock-radio. Phil glances at the time on the digital display; it reads 5:00 AM. Phil lets out a sigh and lies down on his back. He gazes over to the floor next to the bed and notices an abundance of sunflower seed shells and empty alcohol bottles.
Phil: Fuck, that was a great idea... getting plastered on the morning of the biggest match of my career and getting less than three hours sleep. Oh well, I can always catch some Z's on the flight to Des Moines.
A dainty, female arm reaches out and drapes itself across Phil's chest. Phil cocks his head to the side and sees Gina's beautiful face smiling at him. He smiles back at her. They pull in close and kiss. It's nothing fancy, just a good morning, I love you but your breath isn't too fresh right now so let's not go overboard kiss. Phil and Gina gaze lovingly into each other's eyes as they rest their heads on a single pillow.
Phil: How are you doing, babe?
Gina: Oh, I feel greeeat.
Gina lets a cute little yawn slip from her kissable, cherry-red lips.
Gina: I slept for a good eight hours. How about you?
Phil: No such luck. I was up scouting Greenie, then I had to cut a last minute promo to respond to some nonsense that he was talking in his promos, then I...
Gina silences Phil by pressing her index finger on his lips.
Gina: You got drunk and listened to rock and roll music until two in the morning?
Phil nods his head sheepishly.
Phil: Yeah... you know me well, babe.
Gina chuckles as she snuggles up to Phil. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.
Gina: Do you think you're going to be ready to go for the match tonight?
Phil: Of course. I might be a little bit tired and hungover right now, but when the adrenaline kicks in before my match I'm going to be flying higher than Jason Kash on a week-long smoke out. Besides, I've spent more time and effort preparing for this match than for any other match in my career.
Gina: I know, babe. I've been training with you everyday in the gym. I think that's why I've been sleeping so well -- all of those long, grinding workouts!
Phil: And not just the long, grinding workouts at the gym, right?
Phil squeezes Gina's tush and she lets out a mellifluous giggle.
Phil: I'm telling you, Gina. I know Greenfever inside and out. It's comical to me that he honestly believed he could intimidate me, even after I put his ass through a flaming table the last time we met. He tried to intimidate me by challenging me to a Flatliner match, like the prospect of having my heart stopped would somehow have me shaking and shitting myself. As if a man who has the kind of sex that I have with you hasn't had his heart stopped on more than one occasion.
Gina smiles knowingly and nods her head.
Phil: He even thought he could intimidate me with that silly string of promos that he aired last night. I mean it was the same old redundant horror movie bullshit that he's been repeating from Day One. If it didn't intimidate me last time why would it suddenly intimidate me this time around? All I can figure is that the man is getting desperate. He realizes that he's set a trap for himself and the only way to escape... is to die.
The expression on Gina's face suddenly turns to a look of concern.
Gina: What happens... if you don't win, Phil?
Phil: Well I know what happened in my dream--
Phil cuts himself off with a hearty and uproarious laugh.
Phil: That sumbitch gutted me with a hunting knife! The blade must have been seventeen inches!
Gina gulps hard.
Gina: That's what you dreamt about this morning? That's kind of an eerie premonition, Phil.
Gina squeezes Phil tight as her look of concern grows.
Phil: Yeah, it was one of those dreams where I was myself but I wasn't myself... do you know what I mean? Don't worry about it though, babe. It was just my subconscious mind's way of telling me to be alert and expect the unexpected tonight. It's all part of my training method.
Gina flashes a skeptical look at Phil.
Gina: You use dreams as part of your training?
Phil: Of course. Don't you?
Gina raises an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side.
Phil: I'm not crazy, babe. Don't look at me like I'm crazy.
Gina: Whatev.
Gina closes her eyes and snuggles close to Phil's heaving man-chest.
Phil: I tell you though, that subconscious experience helped me to make a conscious decision; I don't want you to be at ringside tonight, Gina. Bobby and Emily neither.
Gina's eyes jump to life and she raises her body to a seated position next to Phil.
Gina: Are you crazy, Phil? What if he brings in reinforcements? We should be there to back you up in case the shit hits the fan.
Phil waves off any such notions with a motion of his hand.
Phil: That's not necessary, babe. I know Greenfever. If he's going to kill me he'll want to do it on his own accord. What would be the point of bringing in back-up? How could he possibly gain any satisfaction from that? Besides, who could he bring in? Oblivion is booked up. He has his hands full with Jay Williams in a Falls Count Anywhere match for the World Championship. Who else is there for Greenie to turn to? Marilyn? Dr. Heill? Those are both highly unlikely options, my dear Gina.
Gina sighs.
Gina: I know, but you just never know what that sick fuck is going to have up his sleeve, especially in a match with no rules, where the object is to... make your opponent's heart stop beating.
Gina visibly shudders as those last few words part from her lips.
Phil: Did you just have an orgasm, babe?
Gina: No! The thought of you being in that kind of match gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Phil: That's precisely why I don't want you at ringside. I don't want you to bear witness to what I'm going to do to this man, the so-called Omega Greenfever. You would never be able to look at me the same way after I murder him with my bare hands, and I just can't have that. I can't strain my relationship with the woman that I'm going to marry and start a family with.
Gina crinkles her cute little nose. She stares at Phil for a moment before nodding her head.
Gina: I think you're right, Phil.
Phil: Thanks, babe. I appreciate the fact that you want to be out there, but I know that this is the best way to do it.
Phil and Gina embrace, one naked body meeting another to form a perfect white orb. They remain in that position for untold minutes before finally separating. When they do, Phil grimaces and grasps at his stomach.
Gina: Are you ok, babe?
Phil: I think I ate too many sunflower seeds this morning. I gotta hit the can, babe.
Gina: Ok. While you're doing that, I'll double-check the luggage to make sure that we have everything packed, and then I'll get started on making breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day and there's no way that you're going to beat Greenfever on a diet of sunflower seeds and airplane food.
Phil kisses Gina.
Phil: Thanks, babe. You're a lifesaver.
Gina smiles. Phil scurries out of bed and appears to be gliding through the air like the spirit of Michael Jackson as he hurries toward the bathroom door. Phil doesn't even bother opening the door, he transmorphs through it and regroups his cellular structure once inside the bathroom. Phil cops a squat on the large, white, porcelain throne and spreads out in a wide base to ensure the maximum flow of air and fluid from his ass to the bowl below. A few seconds pass before a MASSIVE fart explodes from Phil's asshole. At this moment the scene fades out and the flatulent audio is replaced by the head-bobbing American rock and roll sounds of none other than... yeah, you guessed it!
