|
|
Post by Mighty Man Millson on Mar 25, 2012 7:12:51 GMT -4
Match One
Special Guest Referee - Faceless
Crash Barley vs Magnus Gunner
After Faceless almost cost Barley his job, Barley demanded a match with Billy, only for John Simmons to give the fans a mouthwatering contest between Barley and Magnus Gunner, with Faceless as the special guest referee. However, Faceless has been told to call this match down the middle, or he will be given a match with Crash on Crash's terms.
Referee: John Blackwood
Promo round ends on Friday
|
|
|
|
Post by Magnus Gunner on Mar 27, 2012 21:26:10 GMT -4
As the scene opens up with find Magnus Gunner seated inside a lockeroom backstage. Based on the Rock Messiah's cassual attire, an "ACDC" T-shirt, and jeans, one can come to the conclusion that the events taking place before the viewers transpired earlier in the evening. Nonetheless, we find the Michigander fiddling with a waterpipe, holding possibly illegal contents which parents would not want their adolescent children to view. Without acknowledging the existence of the camera, and continuing to construct his bong, Magnus begins to speak.
"So here we are, Prelude to Madness, a venue in which the Rock Messiah should be headlining, yet instead is batting leadoff against some wanker who is light years out of his league and couldn't light the Loaded Pistol's cigarette. Aiden Andrews got lucky, but that shouldn't be grounds for punishing your top draw. And that is what I am. The original casanova, the brightest man in the joint and I'm not talking about complexion. The superstar that pulls up in the Shagwagon and gives all the groupies backstage passes."
Magnus empties water into the glass bong, before lighting it. He puckers his lips around the mouthpiece before inhaling. The bubbles containing smoke begin to come from the stem. Once the bong has a fair amount of smoke built up, he separates the stem, allowing the remaining smoke to infiltrate his lungs. Magnus reclines back, obviously satisfied as he embarks on his voyage to cloud nine. With his voice more relaxed, Gunner stares up at the ceiling, meanwhile his ranting progresses.
"And you look at the internet, EVPW.com, and you see that I'm not the unanimous favorite. In fact, I'm the underdog. Someone tell me who the hell Crash Barley is? Then again that was rhetorical, because if you ask me the guys a nameless jobber. EVPW wants me to close the shades on another closet disco queen to prove myself worthy of the World Championship again, and despite how disrespectful of a proposal this is, I'll oblige. I shot that pigeon, Bryan Hawk down, and caged him like a bird, and he doesn't sing anymore. I'll admit, I was on a metaphorical high at that point, unlike the realistic one I'm experiencing now, and lowered my guard. I got careless, and therefore allowed myself to be bounced from the Eagle Division Tournament for a second time. That was a mistake. I'm done making mistakes now."
The most underrated underachiever lifts his head down from the heavens, before reaching under the table the bong is perched on. He then withdraws a red cup which he places in his mouth, a bottle of "Purple Drank" the well known beverage of the hip hop community containing codeine and promethazine, as well as a bottle of Everclear. From the looks of things, Gunner was on a fast course for an illegally obtained euphoria, much like a true rockstar. The syrup and the alcohol are mixed in the red cup, which afterward, is consumed by the for the developmental legend. It all goes down, the problems, the stress, the doubt and unmet expectations all plummet down the Michigander's esophagus and empty into his breadbasket. With the trials and tribulations of professional wrestling having been burned and washed down, Gunner removes a remote off the table. Pointed at a Radio-CD player and one click, and his nirvana is amplified by Wiz Khalifa's "The Grinder."
"I pride myself on being interesting, and eccentric, and dope. And recently I've both flourished these qualities, and succumbed to disappointment. But as they say, the only way to get ahead is to get started. Prelude to Madness will be my platform to implement change, a change that will end with me being crowned the Eagle Division Champion. So Crash Barley, much like my braincells tonight you will be eviscerated. Much like my liver you will be hammered and crushed. And much like this promo, you will be a forgotten fixture in my damaged memory. After tonight if your name was prolific, it will be unrecognized. Tonight you're gonna be sent to the bottom of the pecking order, listening to ABBA on your 8 track like the silver bullet that you are, while I will ascend the ranks, and come that much closer to achieving prominence."
"Solace can be taken at anytime Mr. Barley, like when one gets overzealous, and overconfident, like I have been in the past, or when bad things happen to you, like perceived interference or shady officiating from "Faceless". What I'm truly articulating Crash, is that I'm not overlooking you, because I've already looked past you. Much like these strange clouds I'm floating on, when things get clearer at the end of the night, I'll be the one victorious and you will be returned back to the seller, the EVPW basement, to dwell in obscurity and revel in the fact that your Records Have Been Shattered, and even someone as dull and bland as yourself could have been made Shagadelic, by the most polarizing superstar in wrestling today."
Gunner fills his cup with another mixture of liquid pharmaceutics and alcohol, and begins preparing the bong for another round as the seed fades to out.
|
|
|
|
Post by Crash Barley on Mar 28, 2012 19:15:09 GMT -4
a CRASH BARLEY roleplay... The scene unlocks itself and reveals a dimly lit room containing two visible objects. Darkness, thick and unwilling, swallows the bulk of matter within the room. All that is visible is a virile figure rounding about a sack oscillating from the exposed rafters above. He is veiled; enshrouded with a dark towel that droops over his scalp resting on his shoulders. Blanketing the rest of his body is a charcoal singlet that settles against the curves of his robust muscles. A thin layer of sweat percolates from his body onto the floor creating puddles of self-discipline and determination. The exposed being, Barley, strikes flawlessly at the bag. Barley is mentally strengthening his thoughts on the match at hand. He reconciles with those thoughts; agreeing that this match could make or break him and conclusively determine where he ranks on the Eagle Vision Pro Wrestling roster. He demanded for a match against a wrestler that almost purged his career and instead was deposited into a suicide mission. Oh yes, Crash was preparing himself; he had to. In his mind, it was the difference between breathing and cessation. Crash collides his fist into the heavy bag a few more times before coming to a halt. He mounts firm with the legs of a massive beast, giving the cement floor an equal and opposite reaction. Barley sinks his head to the cold floor staring at the water bedaubed in a complete circle around the bag. The figure reaches and seizes the black towel encompassing his skull. Barley wipes his bare crest removing the towel and revealing his bitter guise. With thoughts rambling around left and right, he speaks. -[Crash Barley]-“Growing up in the Bronx wasn’t always an enjoyable time. There were moments when you had to think fast or react in a manner that you regretted. There were minutes when all you could do was run and hope for the best. These were intimidating times for me. Imagine a young boy just trying to make sure that he lived to see the sun rise the next day; imagine the fear, distress, and vexation that I went through. After all of that I’m still living… breathing, and I am thankful for it. I have crushed misfortune a numerous amount of times. I have vanquished adversity at its finest. See, that’s all that this is. This is only another embodiment of calamity that I must exhaust.
As a young boy my mother used to tell me this quote. It cemented in my head like a leech lurking on a human’s body and I assure you that I will never forget it. She said, “Son, how do you eat an elephant?” At first I thought she was joking; she was like that. I pondered the quote for days and never really had an answer for her. Thinking back, I knew that was her goal. She wanted me to think of all of the possibilities that it could be but it was incomplex. It was an inspirational quote that has gotten me to where I stand now. My mother explained that eating an elephant was like winning the biggest wrestling match of the century. “Small steps son. You can only eat an elephant one bite at a time,” she said.”Barley uses the towel to skim his forehead drying the layer of sweat still beading from his pores. His body casts a shroud of vapor that ascends behind him. As his body mitigates from the demanding workout he quickly becomes more relaxed. The man in the jet singlet compels his vigorous body downward to attain a bottle of water. He sips at it for a few seconds with a placid manner. Satisfied, Barley rest the bottle of water and towel on the chair adjacent to him returning to an erect state. This time he delivers his full attention to the camera. Barley’s voluminous body seems rock hard; compatible with his attitude. -[Crash Barley]-“All of my life I’ve kept those simple but intelligent words in my head. That has sustained my ability to get through a lot of trials and tribulations throughout my days of existence. Why would tonight be any different? In a battle that could presumably turn into a handicap match, I have no reason to abandon my perpetual ways. Why fix it if isn’t broken? I don’t consider myself to be this great innovator, or the Savior, or any of these self-proclaimed titles. I just do what I do best; I fight for my life.
This Sunday in Miami I will do what I do every night that I’m in that ring. One bite at a time, I will eat away at this… this ignoble human being that calls himself Casanova; this same dishonorable specimen that claims that he is worthy of a championship belt. Look around at the people behind the curtains Gunner. Unfortunately for you, no one is pulling your way. You’re just another speck of dust sandwiched between Faceless and I. Don’t be fooled by your speculation that you are the best, the Ace, or the paramount of this business. I have seen countless egotistical people fall short of what they expected themselves to be. You’re thinking about the big picture when you need to adjust your attention to defeating me. You are being extemporaneous and are unprepared for our match. One bite at a time I will take you to the depths of hell and punish you for your stupidity. I will disable you altogether by impairing every damn bone in your body and I promise to myself that you will not be able to take another step after Sunday. Then you can take your ‘Shagadelic’ ass and run back to California screaming “Eureka… I have found it!” That’s where you and your playmates belong. After, and only after, will I worry about Faceless. This kid… I know how he is. He is too nice for this league; too fair for the big leagues. That is essentially why I am not too concerned about him tonight. I’m focused and more importantly fastened on getting that win that Prelude to Madness. The only unfortunate thing is… Magnus Gunner is the palpable imbecile that must lose.”The disgusted being leans back from the camera. He simpers at the camcorder before diverting away from the scene altogether. The scene remains stable for a few moments looking at the obscurity ahead. Suddenly, it fades. word count: 1071
|
|
|
|
Post by Crash Barley on Mar 29, 2012 20:06:25 GMT -4
a Crash Barley roleplay... The camera embeds itself facing the entrance of the ring. The arena is inaudible as the fans wait in anticipation for the inaugural match of Prelude to Madness. Lizzie, admirable and stunning, holds her position in the squared circle with the microphone attached to her lips. She waits for her cue and then breaks the ice. -[Lizzie Morna]-“Everyone welcome to the most captivating paper view yet, Prelude to Madness! Our first match up is a special guest referee match. Introducing first from Bronx, New York; raisin’ Hell universally since the beginning of time. This man weighs in at two hundred and thirty five pounds and just falls short of six feet tall. Everyone embrace the one and only, Crash Barley!”Harmonizing with her final words, ‘Take this shit back’ bellows undeviatingly into the ears of the multitude of people. The lights quickly withdraw their brightness abandoning the arena at once. After a few short seconds, the smoke commences. In front of the standard black curtains it conglomerates into a dense layer. The hardcore fans squint closely at the membrane. Aware of who it is, the moment still excites them too much to not gape that way. Finally, a short but husky man approaches amidst the fog. Barley cross his arms tenaciously and surveys the field beyond him. To him, he sees nothing but a ring. Crash’s mind is mentally tough and ready to walk home with a win. -[Jimmy Pate]-“I predict that this match is going to steal the show tonight. Although it is the first bout on the card, we’re going to see some extravagant wrestling between these two.”-[Ray White]-“And we’ll be right up close to see the action baby! Gruesome, hard-hitting… action! Faceless, now he’s the lucky one!”-[Jimmy Pate]-“I noticed that Crash said he wasn’t too concerned about Faceless tonight. I think Crash will for sure keep an eye on him but as far as I can tell, he seems pretty damn focused for this matchup. It’ll be interesting to see if he lets his guard down.”Raise Hell by hed Pe continues to blare violently as Crash maneuvers down to the ring. Barley pays no attention to the people ringside, he is resolute. The short being pulls himself inside the ring. He eyes Lizzie unflinchingly and motions for the microphone. Crash holds it to his chin to roar. -[Crash Barley]-“Ladies and gentlemen, let the battle commence. Let the war begin; and let me raise some hell! Magnus, brother, you better be on you’re A-game. A dream doesn't become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work. If you want that belt around your waste then I expect that you will give it your best. Regardless of what you think of me, we’re going to make this the most extravagant singles match anyone’s ever seen.”With those words Barley kindly returns the microphone to Lizzie. She gladly accepts sending a brief smirk his way. Crash waits in the mid-point of the ring for his opponent, the exclusive Magnus Gunner word count: 510
|
|
|
|
Post by Magnus Gunner on Mar 30, 2012 4:29:31 GMT -4
The scene begins with Magnus Gunner standing in front of a large "EVPW" banner, a lit cigarette dangling in his fingertips as he stares at the floor. Any expressions of pre-match anxiety and jitters as usual are absent from the calm, cool, and collected exterior of the Michigander, whom is draped in a sleeveless "I FUCKING BLOOD" top, and his ring tights. Gunner's lips curl into a wry smile as his gaze gradually progresses from being fixated on the surface which he stands on, and the camera lens. After a moment he speaks. “As you cats are aware of… I’ve been a main fixture in EVPW for about four years now. Now that probably doesn’t seem like that long a time period to most you squares, but this is professional wrestling, and this is my life. I live and breathe what transpires on that stage we call a ring, so believe me when I say it, a lot can happen in four months, never mind four whole years. And indeed a lot has happened to the original Casanova– some of it bouge, most of it copasetic– yet there seems to be this ambiguity of where I stand. Have I become apart of the old guard? Do I embody the changing of the aforementioned guard? Don't get confused by these questions, because I know where I stand. Theres just these batch of wankers filling this arena that aren't giving me the respect I deserve.”Pausing, Magnus looks at the ground for a moment. When his eyes return to face the camera, an expression of felt disrespect can be seen. "I mean lets be honest, you dilholes certainly didn't use your hard earned money to see Adam Jones, or Matt Violence, or Jack Noble. No, Magnus Gunner is the superstar that puts asses in seats, and sells out arena after arena. My merchandise is always one of the highest sold, my catchphrases are always the catchiest, and my matches are always the best. I've been blazing trails since I was Hayden Hardkore's understudy. You'd think I'd have earned the respect I deserve by now.”Gunner taps his finger across his temple repeatedly, intimating he had come to a conclusion. But I can put two and two together. People only respect a winner. And winning in professional wrestling means holding all the gold. My career has been like that of a musician, constantly nominated for the award, but never winning the Grammy. I've grown tired of the lowly nominations. Crash Barley, I intend to win that Grammy, and put it on my mantle. Tonight, you will be my muse, my inspiration, helping the Rock Messiah create a tune sure to top the billboards charts. And the song will be bittersweet, and music to my ears, as that ring bell chimes thrice, and my name is shouted over a microphone.”Magnus, radiating with an aura of confidence, smiles a supercilious smirk, wholeheartedly sure in himself and steadfast in the belief of his closing remarks. There's only one thing left I have to say to you Mr. Barley, before you get your live
concert experience. Its not that I'm Over Like Trojan Condoms, cause you already know that. Its not that I'm gonna Shatter Your Records, and make you truly, Shagadelic because that's common knowledge. No, Crash, you're going to learn first hand, how deadly, and dangerous, a motivated Magnus Gunner is, and that my friend, is far out. With that said, Gunner swiftly exits the shot and the scene slowly fades to black.
Crash Barley stands in the center of the squared circle, absolutely focused, a focus captured by the stern expression plastered on his Bronx mug. Despite the overconfident rants by his opponent, he was very aware of the capabilities of the Rock Messiah, and was not going to take him lightly. However just as important, he was ready to show the world, and the aforementioned rocker, that he himself was to be taken seriously, and that he was here to take EVPW by storm. After a brief moment of angst, the arena lights are switched off abruptly, casting the entire building into an ominous darkness. A quiet hush clouds the arena, though slight murmurings are heard amongst the audience packing the venue of EVPW return PPV. Suddenly, the flow of gas begins to ebb slowly, the gas being fed toward the entrance ramp, beginning slowly as small spurts of flames appear. The flames gradually intensify, until the entire entryway is engulfed in an eerie white light, creating tense nervousness and anticipation in the crowd. The fire suddenly dances into life, morphing into a menacing wall of smoke which envelops the ramp. Alas after a few suspenseful moments, the acoustic distortion of Grand Funk Railroad’s - "Sins A Good Man’s Brother" first guitar riff comes to life on the speakers, echoing loudly through the venue, eliciting a mixed reaction from the crowd, some cheering loudly as a shiver of excitement cascades down their spines, others booing vociferously, vehemently voicing their displeasure and fierce hatred for the man behind the music. The fire suddenly disappears, a brief display of pyrotechnics and explosions suddenly occurring before a spotlight shines down upon the curtains. A few more seconds pass by before a solemn looking figure walks into his view, his head bowed, appearing as a silhouette holding his arms hoisted into the air, hands gesturing with the "Rock Sign" behind the shower of sparks that ignite in the entrance tunnel. Having drawn out his entrance for dramatic effect, the self-centered showman commences to pace his way slowly down towards the squared circle. His sauntering his immediately halted as Lizzie Morna steps forwards into the heart of the ring and raises the microphone to her lips. "And his opponent, he hails from Detroit, Michigan, standing six feet, four inches tall, and weighs in tonight at two hundred and forty five pounds, he is the 'Rock Messiah', the 'Loaded Pistol'... this is MAGGNNUUSS GUNNNEEERRRR!"The passionate signing of Mark Farner blares throughout the spectrum, as the guitar riffs begin to pick up, creating a pandemonium of sound. Gunner stands momentarily in the center of the aisle, dawning pink trunks with palm trees, matching style head bandanna and scarf, black boots, and knee pads. With his face concealed by a pair of RetroSuperFuture shades, Magnus shrugs his shoulder, the bare chested rocker beaming with delight and amusement as he picks up his amble toward the ring. Ain't seen a night,
Things work out right, go by....
Things on my mind,
And I just don't have the time,
And it don't seem right. JP: "Gunner is sporting his pink panties and matching accessories. Perfect attire for a man who might eat his words emphatically tonight. Crash Barley is no push over."Ray: "And neither is the Rock Messiah. He's been clawing at the surface for years, and its time for him to burst through the glass ceiling. This could be the match to catapult him into the title race."JP: "The same could be said for his opponent. The winner of this match will certainly have momentum and could stake a claim to either of our two singles championships."Ray: "And with this exhibition match holding this kind of magnitude, we're definitely in store for some faceless shenanigans. "Ain't seen a day,
That I don't hear people say,
They know they're gonna' die.
This may seem a little bit crazy,
But I don't think we should be so lazy.
If you think you've heard this before,
Well, stick around I'm gonna' tell you more.
Gunner finally makes it to the ring apron. Barley has moved so he is standing by the ring ropes, sneering down at his adversary with a cold, calculating gaze. Magnus ignores Crash, simply sliding into the squared hell, and quickly springs to his feet. The shades are handed to the nearby ring attendant, but not before Gunner assures the stagehand that his sunglasses cost more than he could afford with his weekly paycheck. Stroking his pornstar mustache, the Michigander finally locks eyes with his opponent, showing no signs of intimidation. The nonchalant attitude he was flourishing would either be his undoing or springboard him toward prominence, and both he and Crash Barley were about to decide that together. |
|
|
|
Post by Magnus Gunner on Apr 3, 2012 9:28:17 GMT -4
The bell sounds behind the two superstars, with the special guest referee Faceless backing away to let the outspoken individuals attempt to put their money where their mouths are. Crash Barley is the first to make a move, gradually and cautiously approaching the loquacious rocker, and extending his hand, inviting his adversary to do the same. Gunner hesitates initially, before his hand protrudes. However just as quickly as he obliges, the Michigander takes a swing at Barley's leg with his own. Whether fleet of foot, or having anticipated such a response, Barley quickly retracts his hand and subsequently steps back. The two grapplers circle around again, gameplans being scrapped and new strategies being devised as they both attempt to find an immediate chink in the other's armor. After the aforementioned pondering ceases, they meet again in the center of the squared circle, this time colliding in an collar and elbow tie. The situation changes in the blink of an eye as the Rock Messiah pushes Crash's arm away and artfully maneuvers around to his rear. From there he applies a waistlock, squeezing around Barley's abdominal region in an effort to subdue him. Displaying his own wrestling acumen and technical prowess, the Bronx Brawler forcefully breaks free of Gunner's bind. He then spins under Magnus' captured arm, whilst twisting the aforesaid limb, causing the Rock Messiah to sidestep and expose his back, hoping to alleviate the pain. His attempt is fruitless, as Barley quickly applies a hammerlock, wrenching the Michigander's arm with stupendous force, in similar fashion to those trained in law enforcement. Gunner's pleas of mercy are seemingly granted as Crash releases him, only to transition to his head and apply a standing side headlock, making his foe aware that he intended to torture him in a variety of ways. The Loaded Pistol momentarily winces in agony, before using his leverage to push his antagonist into the ropes. The elasticity of the cables tosses Barley forward, allowing Gunner to exploit the momentum and escape. With his head liberated, Magnus steps forward, looking to intercept his adversary as he rebounds off the next set of ring ropes. The sleazebag rocker isn't prepared for what crashes into him, as Crash lowers his shoulder. His blade impinges on Gunner's chest, sending him to the canvas with authority.
The Rock Messiah stares up at his nemesis from the canvas, quite perturbed, with the wind slightly knocked out of him. With Gunner reeling, Crashes leans into the ropes. As he bounces off Magnus rolls onto his chest, causing his foe to leap over him. Instead of charging for the ropes again Barley turns, only to be met with a forearm by the egomaniacal rocker who springs to his feet. Having tentatively rung the New Yorker's bell, Gunner lifts his leg, quickly burying it into Barley's solarplexus, coercing him to double over, his arms gingerly tending to his affecting breadbasket. Having gained control, Magnus backpedals into the ropes. After rebounding he lifts his leg again, looking to use the momentum to deliver a more devastating strike. His aspirations fall short of coming to fruition, as Barley captures his leg and hooks it. With his free arm the belligerent native of the "Big Apple" reaches around Gunner's neck and takes hold of him. With his upper and lower extremities captured the former developmental star is helpless, and unable to escape his perilous predicament. His fate comes full circle as Barley violently bridges his back and throws him overhead, casting him into the air like a javelin and sending him crashing to the canvas with a resounding thud. The fallen Rock Messiah rolls under the bottom rope, lying lifeless on the apron, meanwhile Crash rises to a knee, his breathing flat, his lips curled in a vindictive smile as he plots his next move.
"Fantastic counter right there folks. That's called a Capture Suplex, or "Capchude" in England."
"And here I thought the English were only known for drinking tea and eating krumpets."
"Your ignorance never ceases to amaze me Ray."
"Was that a compliment? I think it was...thanks!"
Magnus remains stretched out on the apron, the pain and agony being conveyed by his cringing face. Impatient, Barley plods heavily to his adversaries position, quickly exiting the ring and stepping onto the apron. Crash wastes little time in continuing his assault as he grabs Gunner by his sweat drenched hair, dragging him unceremoniously to his feet. He immediately applies a front facelock, and tosses the Loaded Pistol's arm over his shoulder. His intentions become clear and explicit to the hardcore maniacs who rise to their feet, cheering in anticipation for a "Holy Shit" moment. As Barley attempts to lift Magnus up for the suplex, the shrewd Detroit native blocks it, desperately grabbing onto the ropes with his freehand, denying the crowd the quenching of their bloodthirst. Looking to preserve his physical wellbeing, the charismatic musician begins plunging his fist into Barley's ribcage. He follows up with two more stiff shots, effectively softening him up, whilst allowing Magnus to slide his head free. With haste and a sense of urgency, Gunner lifts his knee and acquaints it with Crashes gut; the meeting ends with the pugnacious New Yorker hunkering over in pain. The opening is then presented to the Rock Messiah, the window of opportunity staring him in the face and begging for him to take advantage. Never one to turn down something handed to him, Magnus captures Crashes' cranium, locking it in his armpit before swinging his body off the apron. Pulled down by gravity, the two competitors plummet from the ring and collide with the lightly padded surface that awaits them below. Barley's skull smashes into the floor, his lights being irrevocably dimmed as he lies prone, his face buried in the floor due to the tremendous impact. Gunner himself is sprawling supinely, his eyes fixated on the ceiling lights that shine over his carcass, his back likely compromised, a repercussion for his high-risk maneuver. The EVPW fans cheer collectively, if not in appreciation for the two wounded gladiators, for the sheer fact that they just witnessed a shocking term of events.
"Magnus spent time wrestling over in Japan recently, and I think that's what contributed to that kamikaze like offense that just transpired before us."
"That was a nasty fall, but Barley got the worst of that exchange. He just had his pumpkin smashed with that Tornado DDT."
"And I thought Halloween was only in October."
"That's interesting, from the way you dress, one would think its Halloween everyday!
Faceless looks on from the ring, beginning his ten count as the two superstars finally show signs of life. Barley lifts his head off the floor, his skull afire, the world a blur as his cranium assimilates the damage, meanwhile the deliver of the debilitating DDT crawls toward the steel stairs, the effects of the grueling bout having already taking its toll on him.
TBCB Crash (36 Hour Rule)
|
|
