"GRAVES! GRAVES!"

A swarm of cameramen and boom guys shouted while chasing down Michael Graves as he stumbled away from the exit of an abandoned warehouse following Leap Of Faith.

Ah! FUUUCK, I feel like dogshit! he said through a gag behind his OG green and white skull mask.

"Are you ready to record part nine or what?"

Graves startles as a little pencil-necked Hollywood producer materializes in front of his eyes, the cameramen and boom guys surrounding him in a full circle now.

Get the fuck away from me!

Graves pushes through the mob and stumbles on down the sidewalk, stopping every few feet to bend over and retch.

"But Michael! You paid us to produce twenty-four shoot promos on Marf!"

Michael turns back, rubbing his latex skull.

A what?

"For your Anarchy match? Against Marf?"

The pencil-dicked producer said as he and his entourage surrounded Graves again,

Look... I don't know what type of made-up bullshit word 'MARF' is, but it's not cool. I've got a match on Anarchy agai--

Graves’ stomach turns and he starts to gag back some vomit again,

“Michael! Are you okay? ”

The producer says, laying a hand on Graves’ shoulder.

STOP. CALLING. ME. MICHAEL!

“It’s okay, man! You’re not in Gilly’s body anymore.

Uh huh. Look just Uber me out of here goddamnit!