As the sound of small, family car engines almost becomes relaxing, the sound is broken by the Pork Chop Express theme by John Carpenter and the loud vibration coming from a phone tossed carelessely on to the laminate flooring. As the camera focuses on the phone, the name on the screen simply says withheld.
The sound of a flushing toilet is heard in the background followed by footsteps. As the view is slowly zooming in on the phone, a hand reaches down and picks it up.
"Who the hell is calling me at this time of day? Bloody witheld numbers!"
The ziew slowly zooms out to reveal Stu-E Price dressed in a Seattle Seahawks dressing gown, looking at his phone a bit confused and a bit, well, hungover. He lets out a yawn and sits down on the recliner chair and surveys the damage from last night's reunion with his old friends. Isn't a pain in the ass when they don't clean up after themselves, he thinks to himself before stretching out his arms and letting out another yawn, this time a bit more lathargic than the last.
The guitar solo kicks in on his phone again, he looks down and just sees witheld number yet again. Normally that means the Police want to speak with him for something he normally can't remember, besides he was doing the right thing at the time.
"OK, officer, what is it this time?"
The reply shocks him, he looks into the phone almost not believing what he's hearing.
"But, I thought the ####ers ruined it?.... What?... A billion dollars.... No, shut up, nobody would do that!... It's not worth half of that... surely!"
A wry smile flashes across his face as the conversation continues.
"I tell you what, one of the things my daughter hasn't seen me do yet is wrestle, so if I get a phone call or an Email, and I don't confuse it with Emails about Nigerian Princes and penis pills, I might consider one last run... Ok, I'll speak to you soon."
Stu-E hangs the call up, looks blankly at the wall as he's processing the news as the scene fades out.
"Well, shit!"
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